


Into Harry's Head... and Into Draco's Heart

by smoochfestmod



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:26:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoochfestmod/pseuds/smoochfestmod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's seventh year, and Harry and his friends are getting ready to go search for Horcruxes, when Snape comes to them with another idea; to enter The Dark Lord's dream and find and destroy them from the inside. But he has a catch: both he and Draco Malfoy have to go with them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This submission is part of HD Smoochfest on Livejournal. The theme this year is Media Remix, which invited participants to "remix" the story from a Book, Movie, or Television Show. The author/artist will be revealed at the end of the fest. 
> 
> This was created for Prompt Number: M64  
> Original work name: Inception
> 
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> First all, a big thank to my lovely beta L, for her kindness and her patience. I could never have done it without you. Many thanks to the HD Smoochfest mods too, for coping with me and allowing me all the extensions I needed. It was a real pleasure to write this fic, but really I had no idea it would be so long. I was planning on 20-25k at most…
> 
> The title is shamelessly copied from the ones of a double-episode of House MD.  
> PS: When all is dark and there's no light. Lost in the deepest star of night. I see you. are the lyrics of the first verse of the song “This is the Night” from the Weird Sisters.

_A pale hand brushed tentatively against his arm but rapidly withdrew. A wan smile crept upon a tired face and Harry could only stare as the white blond hair glowed more and more strongly before blinding him totally._

Harry opened his eyes and exhaled a deep breath, rubbing at his forehead. Blindly he patted his bedside table to find his glasses before pushing them up his nose. He sat in his bed and closed his eyes, remembering the image of the blond boy. Always him. Always the same one who haunted his dreams again and again. He reminded him of someone, someone he met somewhere, somehow, but the memory seemed to evade him as fully as the figure of his dream, already returned to darkness. Harry pressed his eyelids tightly shut, trying, trying to remember him, the sound of his voice, the lines of his face, the colour of his eyes.

But the blond boy was only a shadow met in a half-remembered dream now…

“Harry? Are you awake? I made breakfast,” a chirpy male voice boomed from the ground floor and Harry smiled lightly at the appetizing smell of fresh baked bread. “Coming!” he yelled in return, before jumping out of his bed and scrambling for his discarded clothes. Slipping on a black hoodie and an old pair of jeans, he rushed down the stairs to the kitchen.

Sitting at the long wooden table, his godfather smiled brightly at him before swallowing his mouthful of scone. “Hello boy. How are you?” he asked between bites. Harry squeezed his shoulder in answer before sitting down the table and reaching for his own pastry. He nibbled at it, suddenly still and thoughtful. Chewing loudly, Sirius frowned at his godson. “Why the long face, Harry?”

Harry looked up before shrugging and concentrated again on his scone. “I dreamed again of the boy.”

Sirius reached to pat him on the arm, a flash of worry in his dark eyes. “It's just a dream, Harry. It's not important.” Harry crumbled a bit of his scone, pensive.

 “I know. It's just… Oh never mind. Just forget it. You're right, it's just a stupid dream.”

Sirius grinned and stretched, yawning, the event obviously already forgotten. “So, what do you want to do today?”

Harry mused over his answer, looking blankly through the window. “I thought…” He stopped abruptly as a flicker of white caught his attention. He stood up and walked across the kitchen, peering through the dirty glass. His green eyes widened as realization seeped into him.

Outside, sprawled unconscious on the pavement, was the blond boy from his dreams…

oOo

_ Chapter 1 _

_Reality: Malfoy Manor_

Draco's eyelids fluttered as he regained consciousness little by little. It was as though all his body was trapped in a giant net and the tiniest movement seemed an impossible effort to make. Finally his tired mind registered a cool hand in his and he struggled to open his eyes. The blurry face of Narcissa smiled faintly at him and Draco blinked several times before he was able to focus. “Shh, sweetheart.” Narcissa soothed him softly, pushing a strand of his hair off his face. “Shh, sleep Draco, sleep.”

He opened his mouth but no sound came. He licked his lips and found them bruised, tasting the metallic taste of his own blood. “What… what happened?” he croaked, voice hoarse and weak.

Narcissa's eyes shone and she swallowed, still stroking his hand. “It's over, Draco. You're safe now. Just sleep, Sweetie.”

He moved slightly and a flash of pain shot through his body, tearing out of him a ragged cry. “Don't move, you're too weak.” Standing up, Narcissa leaned towards him and pushed him back gently, a hand in the middle of his chest, the other stroking his cheek. Draco closed against his eyes, panting, waiting for the stinging pain to fade a little.

The mad laugh of the Dark Lord reverberated in his head as the memory came back in a nauseating flow. The Cruciatus... Draco remembered himself, crying and curling up on the floor in a pathetic attempt to escape his tormentor, biting his lips until they bleed to prevent him from yelling. As the awful images replayed in his mind, his breathing hitched and he felt himself convulse again as panicked tears flowed down his face.

A glass was suddenly pressed against his lips and a cold liquid flowed down his throat. Almost immediately a soothing warmth numbed his body and he sighed softly as sleep claimed him once more.

##

Narcissa put back the Sleeping Draught on the bedside table and silently watched her sleeping son. By Circe herself, how could the Dark Lord do this to him? How he, whom her husband had so much trust in, could torture an innocent boy only for his twisted pleasure? No, the Dark Lord wasn't the Saviour so praised by Lucius, he was a mad man who only brought destruction and pain with him. She couldn't let him continue like this, she couldn't let him hurt her own flesh and blood without reacting. Straightening herself, she wiped a few tears at the corners of her eyes and bent to kiss the top of Draco's head. Yes, she was going to do something and she knew exactly who could help her.

##

Severus Snape was sitting in a chair in his room, reading. On his side, a little oil lamp projected moving shadows against the dark bare walls. No paintings were hanging on them any more, he had taken them down all the first day he had moved in, not able to bear the scrutinizing eyes and listening ears. A knock on the door was heard and Narcissa entered. He looked up, frowning, before putting the book aside and standing up, stepping towards her. “Good evening Narcissa. What a pleasure to see you.” He bowed lightly in front of her, but, when he lifted up his head again, he met her darkest glare.

“Severus,” she said coldly. “I need your help for something extremely dangerous, something we could both be killed for.”

Severus extended his hand to invite her to sit and took his place again on his chair, studying Narcissa's face. Her thin lips were pinched and her nose scrunched up in her usual attitude, but tonight there was something different emanating from her, something determined and ominous. Severus remembered how the Dark Lord had once again cruelly played with Draco, leaving him broken and unconscious on the floor, and he knew instantly what Narcissa was going to ask him for. “Severus,” she repeated, her blank face the perfect mask of the Purebloods. “I can't bear anymore. _He_ 's a monster.” She sighed and closed her eyes to gather her wits. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped to a low conspiratorial tone. “You never said it to me, but I always felt you were putting on an act. It was something in your eyes, something you always hide when _he_ 's in the room. But I know you too well to miss it.” She stared at him unblinkingly, her fierce gaze pinning him against the back of his chair. “You're not one of his followers, Severus.” Unconsciously, Severus' hand curled around his wand in his pocket. He knew Narcissa didn't wish him harm, but if a single other person heard about that…

Narcissa lifted up a soothing hand. “You know I'll never betray you. But I need your help. You surely have contacts on the other side and I need…” Her voice broke and she inhaled deeply. “I need you to save Draco. I don't care about me, I even don't care about Lucius. But you need to save my son.” She stared at him in silence for a long while, before she added in a whisper. “Please.”

And that one word was enough to persuade Severus of the desperation of his friend. Narcissa, the Icy Pureblood Lady, always perfect and well-mannered, just begged him. Releasing his wand, Severus swallowed down the painful lump in his throat and answered quietly. "I have an idea."

##

_Reality: 12, Grimmauld Place_

Severus brushed dust off his arms after stepping out of the Floo. Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed and face shut, Kingsley Shacklebolt watched him straighten himself and saunter towards him. “So,” he began, his voice cold. “What is so urgent we have to meet immediately here in the safe house and risk being discovered?”

Severuss held his glare, a light smirk pulling at his lips. “Don't be so prickly, Shacklebolt. I came here because I know how to end the war.” Speechless, Shacklebolt could only gape at him.

##

“I don't believe it! Snape? Snape as in Severus Snape, the bloody Death Eater? The same one who killed Dumbledore? This Snape? And now he's a spy for Dumbledore?” Ron was rambling, furiously flinging his hands in the air in wide movements and almost hitting Hermione, calmly sitting at his side, brow furrowed in deep reflection.

Harry stared in horror at a very serious and very disturbingly calm Kinsgley, who didn't seem to understand the madness of his announcement. “Ron is right. He killed Dumbledore, Kingsley! I was on the Astronomy Tower last year, I saw him cast the Killing Curse. For Merlin's sake, he's the new favourite of Voldemort's. It makes absolutely no sense.” Ron cringed at the dreaded name and opened his mouth again, ready for another outraged rant, but Hermione was faster.

“Actually,” she began calmly. “It makes sense, Harry. Dumbledore always told you Snape was on your side and you could trust him with your life. But,” She turned towards Kingsley, eyes shining with distrust. “It's also true he killed Dumbledore. Why would he do that if he really was one of us?”

Ron and Harry gawked at their friend, gobsmacked by her treason, but Kingsley only nodded grimly. “I know it's hard to believe. I wanted to gut him too for what he did, but then I learned some things. Dumbledore was already dying and all he did was put an end to his suffering. And now if Severus Snape is You-Know-Who's right hand, it's only to gather as many pieces of information as he can.”

Hermione nodded, thoughtful. Harry began to speak but Shacklebolt shushed him with a raised hand. “I know you don't believe me right now and even with the best will in the world, it will take you time to wrap your mind around all of this, but I'm afraid time is exactly what we lack. Snape is waiting in the kitchen for now and apparently he knows a way to finally bring down You-Know-Who and therefore, win the war.” Thereupon he turned on his heels and left the room.

Ron glared at his retreating back, before muttering. “Bullshit. If he thinks we're going to just believe him and be all rainbows and sunshine with the bloody snake as if nothing had happened…” Harry could only agree with him. The memory of that atrocious night on the Astronomy Tower had haunted his nightmares for months, waking him up yelling and crying like a frightened child. He even made himself the promise to kill the man the next time he'd see him and now he had to trust him because he was suddenly an ally and worse, because apparently he'd just walked in this morning and proclaimed he knew how to end the war. It was so absurd he felt himself almost laughing nervously.

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione's voice reached his ears and he blinked, focusing again on the reality. She and Ron were up, already at the door, twin concerned looks on their faces.

Harry shook his head and stood up. “I'm fine. It's just… It's just mad, you know.”

“I couldn't agree more, mate,” Ron grumbled before climbing down the stairs towards the ground floor.

##

When they entered the kitchen, all heads turned briefly towards them before refocusing on Molly Weasley, standing in the middle of the room, wand drawn and pointed towards a lofty Snape. Kingsley and Mr. Weasley were sitting around the large wooden table, while Lupin was leaning against a wall, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, ready to intervene if things turned ugly and spells began to be hurled.

“How dare you?” Mrs. Weasley was yelling. “How dare you come in this house after you did to him? You're a murderer, Mr. Snape, and I don't care what Kingsley says, you-” She was brutally cut by a wry sneer.

“I know you don't trust me Mrs. Weasley, I know nobody of you does, and honestly, I'm not particularly inclined to trust you either, but we're on the same side. And as much as I loathe Mr. Potter, my plan isn't to kill him.”

“Of course not,” Remus spat dryly. “You just want to fry his brain, it's much more fun in this way, isn't it?”

Snape snorted. “For that, Mr. Potter should have a brain first.”

“Stop,” Kingsley ordered in a low commanding voice. “Now Harry is here, Mr. Snape, could you please explain to him your idea?”

Snape nodded stiffly and scowled at Harry, who unblinkingly returned his glare. Silence stretched for a long time between the two men and Hermione reached out and put her hand on Harry's shoulder, silently holding him back. Then Snape sneered and took in the whole crowd gathered in the room.

“Well, there is a little-known spell called _Communis Somnium_ which enables people to share the same dream. Meaning, one of them is the Dreamer, the one who builds the dream. The others are the Subjects, they populate it with projections, people created by their subconscious. Therefore we can access the unconscious part of one's mind.”

“And how this can help us? We're going to, I don't know, wander into You-Know-Who's subconscious just like that?” Ron sniggered. Snape gave him a baleful look before going on.

“Almost Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter here, has a… Let's say, a connection with the Dark Lord. If we're going into his subconscious, we'll also entering His mind. Thus mental representations of the Horcruxes will appear in the dream and destroying them will result in cutting the link between the Dark Lord and the physical form of the object.”

“In other words, we'll have all the Horcruxes in our reach without having to hunt them? But why didn't we do that earlier?” Hermione asked.

Snape smirked lightly, before drawling. “Unbelievable, our little Ms. Know-It-All doesn't seem to know this particular spell. Anyway, the reason I didn't say anything earlier is it can be very dangerous, people can stay trapped in the dream and go insane. And with the very precarious mental state of Mr. Potter, I didn't really think about this possibility. But, things have recently changed and it's more than time to put an end to this war.”

“And what has changed?” Harry retorted, his right hand on his wand pocket.

“It's none of your business, Mr. Potter,” Snape snapped back. He let down a disdainful look on the distrustful crowd before addressing Shacklebolt. “I have to go back or someone will suspect something. I'll let you know when we're ready.” Then he stepped out of the door and soon, the tell-tale roar of the Floo boomed through the kitchen.

Once again, a heavy silence hung until Kingsley cleared his throat, standing up. “I'm sorry, but I have to go too. Remus?” Lupin cocked slightly his head, attentive. “Could you please explain them the details of the plan?” Lupin nodded dryly, face tense. Kingsley nodded in return and left the room.

“I still can't understand why we have to trust this snake,” Ron snarled, pulling a stool and slumping on it.

Molly scowled at her son's behaviour, before smiling widely at Harry. “Hey, how are you, boy?” She stepped forward and embraced him, before doing the same thing to a rather reluctant Hermione.

Remus smirked slightly at his friend's oddness, then pushed himself off the wall. He walked towards the large table and sat on its edge, thoughtful. “Kingsley said to us he talked with one of Dumbledore's paintings and apparently the old man sent him to his Pensieve, ordering him to watch a few memories before destroying everything. He never said to us what he saw, but since he seems persuaded that Severus is one of us…. Even after everything he did…” He looked up and met Harry's gaze, his own eyes hard and flaring. “But I trust Kingsley with my life and I know he'd never accept Severus's proposal if he wasn't sure of him.” A cold determination seemed to radiate from his body and Harry's fury deflated a bit. If Kingsley was so convinced Snape was on their side, he could maybe keep a bit of his anger at bay and try to at least accept his mere presence.

Lupin waved at the other stools, before taking one of them. When they were all settled, he put his elbows on the table, hands entwined under his chin. “So,” he began calmly.

“As Severus said to you, _Communis Somnium_ enables all partakers to share the same dream and the Subjects bring with them representations of their subconscious. If we can make You-Know-Who fall asleep while you dream, he'll bring his own projections too and hopefully the Horcruxes with him.”

 “So, we basically invite Voldemort with us? It's insane, he's going to kill Harry!” Ron blurted out, earning him a reproaching glare from his mother. Remus only shook his head.

“If we cast _Communis Somnium_ on him, yes of course. But we'll only go to use his link with Harry, so he will not be here in person. Only the part of his mind channelled with Harry's will.”

“But how can we be sure the Horcruxes' projections will be in the dream?” Hermione pointed out.

“Excellent question, Hermione. Severus holds this idea from Dumbledore himself, but because of its great danger, they decided never to use it. However Dumbledore was certain the Horcruxes would appear because of the very nature of the link between Harry and You-Know-Who.”

Harry frowned. “What nature? What did Dumbledore know?”

Lupin shrugged, sighing. “You knew him, Harry. Dumbledore wasn't a man to tell the bottom of his mind. I don't even think Severus really understood the reason behind it. However they will be there and they will be placed where you-Know-Who or Harry thinks they are.”

He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, searching for the right words.

“As you may know, You-Know-Who created six Horcruxes, and two of them have already been destroyed: his diary, that Harry stabbed with a Basilisk fang when he was twelve, and the Gaunt's ring, that cost Dumbledore his life. We know Slytherin's locket is also a Horcrux, but we can't locate itfor the moment. On the other hand we haven't any information about the other two, but Severus seems to know at least their appearance.”

“So as each one of them will require a different dream, we'll need to pile up four dreams and that's the main problem. Because the Projections aren't simply passive representations of our subconscious: they are its way to chase the intruders away. The more time we'll spend in the dream and the deeper we'll go, the more powerful and aggressive they'll be. They'll hunt all the foreign presences in the Dreamer's mind and will try to kill us. And if we unfortunately die in-”

Ron snorted and crossed his arms. “I don't understand. It's just a dream, no? If we die, we just wake up.”

“Not in this kind of dream, Ron. If we are killed, we just go in the deepest part of our mind, called the Limbo. _Communis Somnium_ is cast for a certain amount of time and for as long as this time doesn't run out, we are stuck in it. Furthermore, time in a dream doesn't spend as in reality. Magic accelerates our mind, meaning if we sleep for 1 hour, we spend 20 in the dream.”

“So in the 5th level, it's almost 20 years!” Everyone startled and turned towards the source of the scream. Hermione had brusquely stood up, eyes wide and shocked. Unbelieving whispers broke through the men and women, escalating rapidly, until Molly Weasley's loud voice shushed them all.

“It's totally out of question, Remus! How anyone could survive through such a long dream? It's nonsense.”

Lupin nodded gravely. “That's why this spell is so dangerous, Molly. That's why we have to use what they call “the Kick”. Let me explain. When we dream, we're still sensitive to gravity: if our body falls down, we just jolt awake. Using the spell _Cadere_ , we could make the dreamer believe he is falling and thus snap him out of the dream.”

“So if we synchronise the spell, we can penetrate all the levels of dreams and wake everyone up. I talked with Kingsley and we agreed to use a musical countdown, 'This is the Night', a song of the Weird Sisters everybody here knows. The person in charge of watching over the Dreamers will cast this song on them and its end will be the signal for all the Dreamers to cast _Cadere_ on the others. So the sensation of dreaming will not exceed a couple of hours in the deeper levels.”

A low murmur stretched between the crowd, but otherwise all agreed in silence.

“So,” Harry began tentatively. “Who will be the Dreamers? I mean, obviously me, but who else?”

Remus scratched the back of his head, seemingly reluctant to answer. “Err… I wanted to come with you, Harry. But Kingsley thinks it would be better for you if you were accompanied by Ron and Hermione. I see his point, it's quite simple really, you have fought together for years. The less people share the dream, the less dangerous and unstable it is. So four levels, four Dreamers plus you, Harry, it's already packed up.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed in reflexion. “So, it will be Harry, Ron and me. Snape has to come too, because he's the only one who really knows this spell and the Horcruxes. But that still leaves a place, doesn't it?”

Remus barked a forced laugh. “Hermione, do you really think Severus will go through all of this just out of the goodness of his heart? I mean, maybe he's really on our side, but by doing this he blows his cover completely. If anything goes wrong, I'm sure all the Death-Eaters will hunt him down. And when they catch him, I can't even imagine what kind of fate will wait for him. No, he does this for someone, two people in fact. Kingsley had to promise him they will be protected by the Order no matter the fall-out.”

Harry cocked his head. “So roughly speaking it's a ticket for liberty, all theirs crimes cleared and everything?”

Remus exhaled a long disheartened breath. “Yes, Harry, it's exactly that. We don't even know their names, but Severus insisted and Kingsley had to give up. According to him, they will be necessary for drugging You-Know-Who to sleep. And Snape wants one of them to come with you in the dream.”

“But why?”

“Apparently he could be useful during your trip. Sadly, I don't know anything more about him.”

Ron leaned against the back of his chair, arms still crossed, an expression of complete distrust written all over his face.

“To sum up simply, we have to go through four levels of dreams, fight with the so called Projections who will want to kill us and if they manage, we'll fall to the Limbo for Merlin knows how long. All of that with the help of Snape and a stranger whose name we don't even know. Great, just great.”

He threw his arms theatrically heavenwards, only partially mock-whining. “Why does this kind of stuff always happen to us?”

And neither Harry nor Hermione knew how to answer this.

##

He could feel the icy fear rushing through his veins, freezing his body and chasing away all remnants of warmth and safety. Draco blinked and suppressed a shiver, trying with all his might to keep his face blank and his spine straight, trying to be the perfect picture of a cold Pureblood and not the frightened little boy he really was. Trying. And failing miserably…

He felt his mother's hand search for his own and squeeze it lightly, reassuringly, and he held onto it for dear life, last sliver of warmth in a desolate ocean of ice. His voice seemed to have dropped somewhere to the bottom of his stomach and he had to try several times before managing to croak.

“Severus is a traitor?”

Narcissa nodded gravely, running an appeasing thumb against the back of his hand. “I don't really like this word, Draco. It depends too much on its context. For the Dark Lord, yes, he's a traitor. But for the other side, he's-”

Draco lifted up his free hand, lips pinched. “Don't. Just don't say it, please.” He exhaled sharply, easing away the angst still boiling in the pit of his guts. Counting to ten in his head, he asked tentatively.

“So, we're going to help Potter to- to…” He licked his lips, forcing the words out of his mouth. “To kill the Dark Lord,” he murmured.

Narcissa's eyes darkened and she nodded earnestly again, whispering. “Yes.”

Draco closed his eyes, fighting against another panic attack creeping up his throat. He concentrated on his breathing for what it seemed an eternity to him, slowly registering the new pieces of information.

He couldn't believe it, couldn't grasp why his mother was turning away from the Dark Lord, how Severus, his godfather and the Dark Lord's own right hand could be a traitor to their cause. And worse, they wanted to kill _him_ and wanted him, Draco, to help them with their insane plan.

But they couldn't do it, nobody could. The Dark Lord was almighty and when he knew, because he _would_ know, about their little rebellion, he would _Crucio_ them all until they begged for death.

“Draco,” Narcissa soothed, voice warm and deep, the same one she used when he was three and she had to rock him softly after a nightmare. “ _He_ 's not the man we thought. He's not going to bring us back the superiority of the blood purity, because he's insane. He's just a madman with way too much power for our good and he's going to take us down with him.” She brushed his cheek lightly. “We have to stop him before it's too late.”

Draco leaned against her cool hand for a while, before reopening his eyes and met his mother's determined gaze, swallowing hard. He could do it. For once in his life, he could do the right thing, even if they'll surely disastrously fail, even if he had to act like a bold hare-brained Gryffindor with no sense of self-preservation. Yes, he would do it. For his mother.

“I'm in,” he whispered, eyes hard and unblinking.

##

Draco changed the plate to his left hand and smoothed nervously his robes, his hands shaking. He was standing in front of the door leading to the Dark Lord's rooms for at least a whole minute, desperately trying to find the courage to knock.

After agreeing to this madness, he had met Severus in his own room away from prying eyes and his godfather had explained to him the ins and outs of the plan. Even now, his head spun when he tried to remember what he had learned this night. All the secrets, the treasons, the under-handed vows… He hadn't fathom why Severus had chosen to go down this path and betray _Him_ , but he had seen something shine behind the dark eyes when the man was talking. Something small, hidden deep in his soul, but powerful enough to make him change sides and abandon his own faiths. Draco couldn't understand it but he had to suppress a shiver at its overwhelming intensity.

He had cried this night, cried and sobbed and whimpered like a lost child. But lost he was. His whole world had just crumbled, his very beliefs were overthrown and his mother, the last person who he thought he could believe in this chaos had become an enemy. Unless he followed her and became a traitor to his own family too…

And this plan, this whole dangerously idiotic Gryffindor-like plan! Share a dream with Potter and his minions and destroy what? These so-called Horcruxes, which would be fragments of the Dark Lord's very soul?

No. It was official. They had all gone round the twist. Including him for agreeing to participate in this insanity.

He sighed and looked sceptically at the bottle of fine wine and its one crystal glass proudly standing on the plate, taunting him. Taking advantage of his Headmaster status, Severus had secretly brewed a toughened Sleeping Draught, specifically designed to knock the Dark Lord out for a couple of hours.

But all of their little schemes wouldn't make any sense if they couldn't manage to make him drink it. And in his paranoia, the Dark Lord only allowed one of his trustworthy House-Elves to step foot in his den.

But this night it was Draco who was going to show up at his door, bringing him his customary evening glass of wine. Draco gritted his teeth when he remembered why they had chosen him. Because in the Dark Lord's eyes, he hasn't much more worth than a House-Elf. After all, wasn't he the son of his discarded former right hand, the one who so blatantly failed on his mission to regain the honour of his family, unable to kill and thus totally useless to his Master. A weak and insignificant child unworthy of the Dark Mark he was carrying.

Draco glared disgustedly at the black snake and skull forever staining his left forearm and a flare of rage and shame ignited in his stomach. He had suffered to tears when the Dark Lord etched in it into his skin and now he was left as little more than a screaming puppet to his twisted pleasure?

Focusing on his anger, Draco took a deep breath and lifted his hand, shakily hovering over the hardwood door. He could do it, he could prove to them that he wasn't just a coward and a weak child, that he was worthy of his Malfoy and Black blood, that he was a man and not a boy anymore. If Potter could fight against his father and win, then Draco could lie to the Dark Lord.

He knocked at the door.

##

As expected there was no answer. So Draco pushed slightly at the heavy door and sneaked a look inside. The place was dimly lit by a flickering lamp on a small pedestal table. Next to it, sitting in a dark leather armchair, was the Dark Lord himself reading a parchment. He looked up when Draco entered and his lips stretched in a sickeningly sweet smile.

“The Malfoy boy,” he purred, his voice dripping with condescension. “What a surprise.” He extended his arm, snapping his fingers towards Draco in a silent order. Draco walked haltingly to him, head low, eyes kept on the floor. When he was in reach, the Dark Lord leaned towards him and, putting his hand under Draco’s chin, lifted his head.

“Look at me, Draco,” he ordered softly, almost nicely, and Draco felt a shiver run down this spine at his mock tone. But he had to do it, he had to let him think he was so frightened and feeble he couldn't in any way be a threat to him. So he looked up and let the fear show in his eyes. The Dark Lord's smile widened and he bared his teeth in a menacing beastly kind of way.

“Good boy,” he said, releasing Draco with one hand, while curling his other around the stem of the glass. “You seem to have understood where your real place is, you know. At the service of your Master with the other House-Elves. You're such a failure, Draco. Just like your father.”

Draco gritted his teeth, but endured silently the rude comments, struggling to keep his eyes away from the wine slowly spinning in the glass. _Please, please, drink it. Drink it now._ He could feel small droplets of sweat forming at the back of his neck and he had more and more difficulty keeping himself from fidgeting. If the Dark Lord would come to understand what he was doing… If he'd just look at his thoughts…

He tried to close his mind just as Aunt Bellatrix showed him, even if he knew too well the Dark Lord could crush him with a single flick of his magic. But nothing hit the barriers of his mind and he allowed himself to slightly relax. The Dark Lord raised the glass to his lips, tasting it before finally _finally_ gulping it down in one swig, putting it back on the plate Draco was still holding.

Immediately Draco reached for the bottle to pour him another glass, while the Dark Lord went on, calm and poised, as if he was just saying trite remarks. “You, Malfoys, are all bark and no bite. You are so full of your name, always parading when there's nothing to do. But when time to act comes, you fail at the easiest missions. Your father didn't manage to kill a sixteen-year old boy. And you…”

Draco nearly bit his lips as he hold himself to make a snarky comment about how he, with all his power, hadn't succeeded in killing a single baby in his time.

The Dark Lord's voice seemed to have taken up his former mock sweet tone, but it could just be the beginnings of the potion's effects. Draco stretched out his plate and let him take another glass, the Dark Lord considering it briefly before taking a sip again.

“You surprised me, Draco, pleasantly surprised me when you managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinet and let us enter Hogwarts. I honestly didn't think you could. But you did. And I thought for a second you were worth something. But after that…” He shook his head, always wearing his syrupy smile, but his red eyes were hazy and unfocused. “You have disappointed me so much. I was placing high expectations on you and you had to reveal you true nature. The one of… Of a coward.” His voice was slowing down now, slurring his words. He blinked twice and pinched his nose for a while, before meeting Draco's gaze again, stammering. “What? What did you do to me? You dirty little…”

He tried to stand up, but fell backwards on his chair, head lolling down on the back. A long nerve-wracking silence wrapped around the room before Draco took a tentative step forward, checking out the slumped form of his Master. Draco put the plate aside on the table and, muttering a spell, flicked his wand in front of the closed eyes. _He was asleep, good Lord he was really asleep…_

Draco exhaled a long relieved breath. He did it, he just did it. All he wanted to do now was to just lie down and sleep for at least an eternity. But he knew they couldn't afford it. They had to take advantage of the Dark Lord's temporary unconsciousness and go through with their plan, and maybe, _just maybe_ they could have a small chance of actually succeeding. Inhaling, he straightened himself, grasped his shaking wits and turned back, a little sliver of hope flickering in his chest.

##

Shortly after he walked again into the dreaded room, Severus and his mother on his heels.

“Is he really asleep?” Narcissa whispered while Severus cast his own spell on the Dark Lord. He nodded and Narcissa's shoulders sagged a little with relief. She turned towards Draco, her face still impeccably blank, but he could see her eyes shine with pride and he beamed inwardly.

“Narcissa, come here, please. You too, Draco,” Severus asked in a low voice and she complied, stepping through the room towards the fireplace, Draco in tow. Pointing out the rug in front of the hearth, Severus added to the boy. “Lie down here.” Then to Narcissa. “Take a seat, you will have to watch us. Don't worry, unlike in a normal dream, we will be perfectly still.” He sat on the carpet, next to Draco and gave a wary look to the unmoving body of the Dark Lord, still sleeping in his chair. “Normally he should be unconscious for a little over an hour and _Communis Somnium_ will only last 10 minutes in reality. So, this isn't an issue.” He looked in her pale determined eyes. “You know what you have to do?”

She nodded dryly and recited in a clipped tone. “When the time is up, I cast the song and when its last words are spoken, I use _Cadere_ on you. After that, while you're waking up, I open the Floo at precisely 11pm. On the other side, they do the same thing and the connection will last only for 2 minutes. We travel to their safe house and we hope they don't imprison us the moment we step foot inside.”

Severus nodded back and turned towards Draco. ”Are you ready?” Draco lifted his chin up in defiance. “Of course I am.” Severus snorted at his unwise bravado, but didn't answer anything, only lying down on his back and closing his eyes. At his side, Draco did the same.

“Whenever you're ready, Narcissa.”

Soon Draco heard her whispering the spell, but rapidly he couldn't discern her words, drowned in a strange otherworldly chant. And he drifted off slowly, lulled to sleep by his mother's voice.

##

_Reality: 12, Grimmauld Place_

“Is everyone ready?” Even her bright wide smile couldn't totally hide the worried quivers in Molly Weasley's voice. Harry nodded, then, propping himself on one elbow, ducked his head to his side and watched his friends with a light smile. Ron was slouched over a worn-out armchair, his too long legs thrown over the armrest and his feet rhythmically kicking its side. Hermione was nervously fidgeting on the nearby sofa, fingers entwined on her chest and eyebrows furrowed as she was surely rehashing all the new pieces of information in her head. Harry, for his part, was lying on a cushioned plush blanket sprawled on the floor in front of the extinct fireplace, looking up now and then to the others members of the Order, bypassing him as they finalized the last details of the plan.

“Last recap,” Lupin announced, walking between the teenagers. “The first dream is Ron's, featuring this very house. Before doing anything, you have to find Severus and his companion. Then you'll have 3 hours to find Slytherin's locket and destroy it. Remember, except you three, Severus and his man, everyone you will meet down there is only a Projection. And even if they are your friends in reality, in the dream they will try to kill you. Always keep that in mind.” He turned on himself, successively watching the three Gryffindors before nodding gravely. “Good luck, guys.”

He pulled out his wand and began to swirl it in a complicated movement, chanting the spell in a low, rhythmical voice.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Chapter 2 _

_1 rst level: Ron's dream, 12, Grimmauld Place_

“What are you doing?”

Harry blinked a few times and looked around him. He was standing by the now lit hearth, a metallic poker in his hand, apparently just rummaging around the burning logs. Ron was still sitting in his armchair, arms crossed and looking as lost Harry felt. Harry sceptically eyed the poker, before throwing it away with a shrug. It hit the floor with a loud clang and both boys winced a little.

Ron stood up and stretched, cracking his back. “Are we in the dream?”

Harry took in their silent surroundings and couldn't notice any trace of Molly's or Remus' presence. He nodded slowly. “I think so. Where is Hermione?”

Ron turned so fast on himself he swayed a little. "Don't know. I think she has been awake before us." He scratched his head, thinking. “So, what are we doing now?”

Harry just opened his mouth to answer, when Hermione sauntered through the door, a stern look on her face. “Finally, you're awake,” she scolded them lightly. “I just had a quick look around. The whole ground floor seems empty.”

“That's rather a good thing, isn't it?” Ron chirped.

Hermione shot him an annoyed look before answering. “Yes, but we have to find Snape before doing anything. And apparently neither he nor his mysterious companion have shown up yet. So…”

She was brusquely interrupted by a crash coming from the next room and the three of them instantly drew their wands. Harry put a finger on his lips, silencing them, before slinking towards the door, ready to hex the intruder.

Turning on a corner, he caught a glimpse of a hunched form covered by a large black coat, seemingly busy picking up a broken vase. Harry step silently forwards, wand lifted up, but one of the old boards creaked and the dark figure froze suddenly. Harry immediately yelled _Stupefy_ , but the man had the time to duck the spell, rolling onto the floor, while the scarlet ray crashed on the old scraped wood wall in a burst of red.

“Don't!” Another voice ordered, low and commanding. Harry turned to see Snape walking towards him, a murderous look on his face. He forcefully grabbed Harry's wrist and tugged him up to force him to meet his eyes. “Never, ever, stun someone in a shared dream, Mr. Potter," he hissed. "Here it's the same as killing him.”

Harry gawked at him in surprise, before recovering enough of his wits to snatch his arm out of Snape's vice-like grip. In the corner of his eye, he could see the prone figure stand up, pushing the hood down, and he cringed instantly. The haughty, pointed face of Draco Malfoy sneered at him, before glancing disgustedly to Ron and Hermione.

“Malfoy!” Ron bellowed, mouth agape and Malfoy snickered.

“Wow, Weasleybee, you recognized me? I daresay I'm impressed by your observation skills.”

Before Ron could snap at him, Snape shushed them with a sharp flick of his hand. "Hush. We have better to do than fight. Come with me." He disappeared through the door leading to one of the bedrooms, leaving the four teenagers glaring at each other.

“So Malfoy,” Hermione stated menacingly. “You're the last Dreamer.”

“Very good, Bushhead, 50 points for Gryffindor,” he drawled, mimicking applause. “But much as I'd love going on talking with you, you heard Snape. We have other fish to fry.” With a last lofty look, he turned on his heels and followed Snape away.

“Just perfect,” Ron muttered. “We haven't enough trouble yet, so it had to be Malfoy.” Harry huffed at his side, barely keeping himself from banging his head on the nearest wall.

##

They were soon all grudgingly gathered in an old dusty bedroom on the ground floor. As he was leaning against a wall, Harry could hear hushed sniggers coming from over his head. He looked up and caught two old women sitting in their portrait, heads tilted towards the other and apparently very busy making snide comments on the newcomers. Great, even in the dream, the paintings made fun of them. Resisting the urge of hexing the wrinkled magpies, Harry shook his head and chose to focus instead on Snape's continuous rant.

“If any of you had paid only a bit of attention to Remus' explanations, you should have known the Stunning spell is equal to the Killing Curse. And I can assure you, you absolutely don't want to be killed here and send to the Limbo.”

“I didn't know it was Malfoy. I thought it was just a Projection,” Harry retaliated.

Malfoy sneered at him and Snape threw his customary _You-are-an-utter-moron_ type of scowl, before going on, as if nothing happened.

“Good. If we are all here, we can begin. This dream is going to last a little more than 3 hours, so I think, if we even have the time, we should search for Slytherin's locket right away and split into several teams to cover the maximum of rooms in the minimum of time. Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, you search the first and second floors. Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, the topmost ones. I deal with the ground floor and the basement. And remember, _except for the five of us_ ,” he glared balefully at Harry, “anyone you could come across is a potential enemy who will try to kill you. So, this being said,” he turned his nose up in disdain. “I leave you to your task. Hopefully you will be more efficient here than you were in my class.” Whereupon, he walked away.

Snape had hardly disappeared through the door before Hermione was already practically jumping off of her seat. Forcefully grabbing a puzzled Ron by the wrist, she all but dragged him outside with a simple “Come here, Ron,” apparently eager either to escape from Malfoy or set to work. With Hermione, one never knew.

Harry and Malfoy stayed behind, facing each other in a tense silence, until they heard the dull sound of feet climbing up the old wooden stairs. Harry cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, looking everywhere but Malfoy. “So I think we simply have to do what he said.” For his answer, Malfoy snorted and bypassed Harry, exiting the small room. Watching his retreating back, Harry felt his shoulders sag a little and he exhaled a long breath.

He hadn't seen Malfoy since the dreadful night on the Astronomy Tower and he swallowed hard at the memory of him, shaking and crying in front of Dumbledore, unable to kill the old man even under the other's exhortations. That night Harry had understood that, maybe, Malfoy wasn't the man he claimed to be, this dark and insensitive Death-Eater, who could take a life without blinking. And suddenly it struck Harry, that, although he hadn't thought of Malfoy since, his feelings had changed towards the other boy. Of course, he still was the arrogant and contemptuous bully of his childhood, but he wasn't and had never been a murderer. So, perhaps, it wasn't that bad he could earn the right to be protected by the Order, after all. If only to assure he never crosses that line.

“Are you coming, Potter? Or should I do this all by myself?” The angry voice of Malfoy, coming from the corridor, snatched him out of his musings and he hurried off to meet him.

##

For one hour, they searched thoroughly in silence through the rooms. The few words exchanged were practical, plainly indicating the sharing of the work or warning the other that one had finished up. And Harry was surprised he could actually enjoy Malfoy's company when the git shut it up.

Straightening up after having spent ten minutes bent over a crate full of discarded dusty trinkets, Harry huffed and stretched his arms over his head. “Malfoy,” he called.

The blond was rummaging through an old desk and he lifted up his head, eyes narrowed in exasperation. “What?” he spat.

Harry was now stretching his chest from left to right, hands on his hips‏ and he could almost swear Malfoy’s eyes had discreetly followed the movement of his body, before hastily returning to his face. “I was wondering,” Harry began, “if we find the locket, how will we destroy it? I mean, normally one has to use Basilisk venom, but I doubt we could find it in a dream, could we?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and opened his hand, palm up. A few seconds later, he closed it again around a Basilisk fang, which just happened to appear between his fingers. “We're in a dream, Potter,” Malfoy drawled. “You just have to wish to make things real.” He threw away the tooth and Harry saw it vanishing mid-air. “Stop drooling like a Muggle, Potter, or one could think you never actually saw real magic,” he snapped a last time, before returning to his work, muttering, “Moron.” just loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry stood bewildered for a while, blinking at the now empty place where the fang was flying barely a few second ago. So, it was as easy at that? A mere thought and anything could materialize in front of him? Deciding to give it a try, he extended his hand flat before him and the first thing to pop in his mind was the image of his faithful Firebolt. Harry frowned in concentration, trying to remember how it felt in his hand, warm and heavy, the wood soft under his calloused fingers.

And suddenly it was here, solid and real and Harry's breath hitched in surprise. It wasn't any broom. It was his own. Down to each little knot and notch in the handle or the way his metallic pedals were twisted and slightly rusted.

Looking up, he caught Malfoy watching him under his fringe, but when their eyes met, the blond simply shrugged and opened another drawer. Caught like a disobedient child, Harry hastily wished the broom away and brushed his hands along his trousers, in an attempt to regain composure. “Malfoy?”

“Yes?” Malfoy huffed, not bothering this time to look up.

“Why are you here?”

Malfoy shoved away from the desk, clearly taken aback. “Obviously, I'm searching for the locket,” he drawled. “Something you should do too, instead of asking dumb questions.” Harry's eyes flared as he fought a sudden burst of annoyance, one only the blond could ignite in him.

“Don't play daft, Malfoy. You know what I mean. Here, on our side, with the Order. Last time I checked you were pretty proud to crawl in front of Voldemort.”

It wasn't totally true, of course. The scared boy on the Astronomy Tower had faltered in front of Dumbledore's extended hand. And if the other Death Eaters hadn't been there, if it had only been Malfoy and him, maybe he would have just taken it, maybe thus so much could have been avoided…

But, for now, he obviously touched a sore point, seeing the way Malfoy's shoulders had hunched and his features had tensed, eyes dark and defensive, and he reminded Harry somehow of an injured cornered beast.

“It's none of your business,” he snarled nastily.

“I think it is, actually. We're sharing a dream, so it would be great if I could trust you at least a little.”

Something dangerous glimmered in the grey eyes and Harry palmed his wand through the fabric of his trousers, ready to draw it out if Malfoy hinted at the slightest menacing move.

But surprisingly the blond didn't take the bait. Instead he just sighed and shook his head, giving up.

“It's just… Leave it be, Potter. I'm not a threat,” he muttered, eyes down.

And he looked so small and lost Harry found himself striding towards him, grabbing his wrist and tugging it gently up. Their eyes met for a few seconds and Malfoy's were so wide and vulnerable Harry just wanted to hug him and tell him something sappy and reassuring.

But Malfoy snatched his arm away and the moment was broken.

“Don't you have boxes to dig in?” he drawled, pointed chin up and back straight, defences already rebuilt.

Harry just shrugged, dismissing the crates with a swish of his hand. “I'm done.”

Malfoy glanced suspiciously at the pile, before clacking the drawer shut and sighing. “Me too. So we just have to move to the next room.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded faintly, sidling aside to let Malfoy pass. Oddly, as he was watching the blond stepping through the door, Harry felt a surge of protectiveness sweep through him. Malfoy could well still be an unbearable git, but the fact was he needed help and surprising as it may seem Harry was ready to offer it to him.

##

When Harry finally caught up to Malfoy, the blond was already standing near the next door, hand on the handle and a disdainful eyebrow lifted up. Harry stopped and sneered at him, squaring his shoulders.

Then he glanced at the door and his breath caught somewhere in the depth of his throat. Hung on the dark wood, the little sign still read the same careful written words than in reality: _Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black._ Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to will away the gloomy image of the dark icy cave and the atrocious screams of the Inferi. Feeling the weight of Malfoy's stare on him, he shook his head and glared back, daring the git to make a comment. But as usual Malfoy ignored the silent threat and swooped down on Harry.

“Potter?” he drawled, a smug grin on his face.

“It's nothing important.” Harry groaned, hands itching to beat the smirk out of the blond. But Malfoy's smile only widened.

“Odd, I remember you saying we have to trust each other. But it has to be a mistake, hasn't it?”

Harry gnawed his teeth, knowing too well the blond would never just let it go. “He was the last owner of the locket, ok? He knew Voldemort had made a Horcrux and he tried to steal it with his House-Elf, Kreacher. But he was killed in the process and the locket ended up with Kreacher who hid it, until someone else stole it from him and the locket disappeared once again. End of story.” He shrugged, clearly not wanting to linger on it.

Malfoy's eyes widened almost comically and his mouth gaped silently in shock for a little while, which Harry found strangely cute. But suddenly Malfoy started yelling.

“You, bloody idiot! You couldn't have said it earlier, could you? We would have begun with this room instead of wasting our time searching the complete floor! We're in a dream, moron! In a dream! Get this through your thick skull! If Regulus Black owned the locket, so the locket has to be in his bedroom! But I think even this is too complicated for you, isn't it?”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Harry howled back, anger rushing through his veins, hands already turned into fists. “I didn't think of it, okay! But it's not a reason for yelling at me! Don't forget you're the one who asked for help here and for once in your life, just shut it up!”

Malfoy's eyes flared, but he didn't reply. A long tense silence settled down between them as they stood, glaring daggers at each other, until Malfoy huffed and lifted up his chin, finally loosening enough his clutch on the handle to turn it and open the door. He strode through it without a backwards glance, followed by a still fuming Harry.

##

But as he was busy with trying to bore a hole in Malfoy's back with just the force of his glare, Harry missed the sudden stop of the blond and almost bumped into him. But Malfoy didn't turn back, and Harry leaned a little aside, noticing Malfoy has pulled out his wand and was currently pointing it at…

_Holy shit!_

Sitting on the faded green and silver quilt, a mocking smile playing at his lips, was Sirius Black. “Hello guys,” he chirped, lazily twirling _the locket_ between his fingers. “How are you?”

Leaning towards Harry, Malfoy mouthed angrily. “Why is he here?” But Harry didn't even glance at him, rooted to the spot at the unbelievable vision of his godfather. And, suddenly, his muscles remembered how to move and he all but launched himself on Sirius, hugging him for dear life.

“Sirius! You're here! You're really here! I missed you so much. I was… Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It was my fault, but… But you're here! It's wonderful!” He babbled incoherently, his eyes watering as he felt the warm arms of his godfather closing around him.

He couldn't believe it. Sirius was here. He had come back from the dead. Of course, the Veil had failed to hold him back. He should have known the cunning Padfoot would find a way out. Merlin, he should slap himself to have dared to believe one second the contrary.

“Potter.” A surprisingly gentle voice came from behind them and Harry turned his head a little, still leaning against Sirius. Malfoy was watching him with wary worried eyes, head slightly tilted and wand still drawn, except that now his right hand fell limply to his side. “He's not real, Potter. He's a Projection,” he murmured softly, carefully as if he was afraid Harry had suddenly gone mad.

Harry frowned, Malfoy's words slowly sinking through his dazed mind. Not real? A Projection? Why? Why couldn't Sirius just be here with them in the… He swallowed hard, cutting short his train of thoughts. _In the dream_ … It was a dream, Merlin, it was just a dream.

“And how do you explain how I'm here, Blondie?” Sirius replied, his voice taunting. But Harry pushed back from his arms, disentangling himself.

“No, he's right,” he admitted unwillingly. “It's me who placed you here. You're just a Projection.” He looked away, his shoulders slumped, not daring to meet Sirius' eyes again.

“But Harry…” Harry flinched and Sirius fell silent for a while.

“Here.” Harry turned back a little and saw in the corner of his eye Sirius holding the locket out, a miserable expression on his face. He extended his hand and the man let the jewel drop in his palm, then retreated back without a word. Feeling movement on his side, Harry looked up and saw Malfoy approaching cautiously, a Basilisk fang in his hands.

Sirius stood up and nodded at Harry, an odd glimmer lingering in his tired grey eyes, before disappearing through the door. Harry watched him leave silently, his hand unconsciously closed around the locket.

Malfoy cleared his throat but had the decency not to comment. He simply held out the tooth and Harry took it, before laying the locket in a dusty cabinet. “Open,” he murmured in Parseltongue, indifferent to Malfoy's sharp intake of breath behind him. The locket dutifully obeyed, springing open and revealing two dark eyes, so narrowed only a slit of the black pupils could be distinguished.

“Why do you want to kill me?” The locket gently hissed in Parseltongue at him, its voice sweet and kind, coiling around Harry as the rings of a snake. “Don't you want to stay with your godfather?”

Harry clenched his teeth and raised his hand, ready to strike, but the locket went on. “If you kill me, you stop the dream, you know. And you lose Sirius for ever. And you don't want that, do you? But there is another way.”

Harry swallowed hard, faltering. _Don't listen to it, it's lying. Stab it, just stab it now._

“Snape lied to you about the Limbo. He told you it was a horrible place, but he's wrong. Down there, you could be happy. No more war, no more pain. No more duties. You just have to let me live and _Stupefy_ you. And you will be with Sirius. Forever.”

Harry closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. _It's lying, it's lying._ He kept repeating in his mind, so much the words blurred and he wasn't able to grasp their meaning any more. His arm had lowered and he was standing hopelessly in front of the still hissing locket, unable to destroy it or even to walk away.

Finally it was Malfoy's quiet “Potter?” that startled him into life again. He shook his head vigorously and brandished the fang, deftly stabbed the locket in the heart. The Horcrux screeched and pulsed, before its gold windows shattered into pieces, finally destroying it. Harry exhaled strongly a few times, filling his lungs and clearing his mind, the fake promises fading away. No, Sirius wasn't here, he was dead and he just had to accept it.

_He just had to accept it._

He shook his head again and murmured, his back still to Malfoy. “Don't say anything to the others. Don't tell them about Sirius.” He was on the verge to add _Please_ , but managed to keep his mouth shut. It was Malfoy after all and Harry would be damned to give to the git more weapons than he had already.

Harry turned back and saw the blond watching with an unfathomable expression, his lips pinched. “He's a Projection of your subconscious, Potter. He can be very dangerous, you know.”

Harry shook his head. “You saw him. He willingly gave us the Horcrux, he's not a threat.”

“Not here perhaps,” Malfoy replied. “But in the lower levels, he can be. I suppose Severus told you about it. The more we go lower, the more Projections would want to kill us.”

Harry shrugged and looked aside, still clutching the fang, putting an end to the semblance of conversation. When he heard footsteps walking away, closing the door behind them, he allowed himself to sigh and, leaning against the cabinet, slid down to the floor, eyes closed.

Why did he have to bring Sirius here? Why did he have to put himself through this once again?

A sudden pang of distress hit him right in the chest and he bent himself in half, fighting nausea, as he was abruptly dragged back to the Department of Mysteries. The screams and the shouted spells reverberated in his head and the air he breathed was filled with an acrid smoke. Standing in front of him was Sirius Black, duelling with Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry ran towards them as fast as he could, wand up, ready to strike, but the mad witch was faster. The spell knocked Sirius back. Through the Veil. Harry heard himself yell, voice ragged and torn in agony.

Pressing his eyelids closed, he curled up on himself, arms encircling his raised knees and head hid in the crook between them. Slowly his breath evened and he swallowed hard, pushing away the memories. Sirius was going to return, he knew it. _He_ was going to bring him back in the dream. Shaking his head, he stood up on wobbly knees and had to catch the edge of the cabinet to steady himself.

  1. He should do something, he should push away Sirius Black deeper into his mind. They couldn't afford to fail.



_Even for a few minutes more with his godfather._

He ran a still shaking hand through his hair and, straightening up, exited the bedroom in search for the others.

##

He could hear the muffled sounds of a row coming from down the stairs and he hurried up to the ground floor. Obviously Malfoy had spread the news of the Horcrux's destruction and everyone was once again gathered in the old bedroom with the gossiping paintings. But as Harry went closer, he could begin to discern the actual words shouted between what sounded like Snape and… Hermione?

“Professor! We can't let you do this! Did you really think we'd let Harry-”

“Miss Granger,” Snape replied coldly, sneer audible in his voice. "I don't think you're in a position to argue. I-”

He interrupted himself as Harry entered the room and Hermione huffed and clenched her fists, eyes flaring. But before Harry could ask anything, she strode towards him and, seizing his wrist, dragged him in front of Snape.

“We are not going to abandon him!” she spat fiercely.

In his corner, Ron snorted and muttered something probably nasty about _snakes_ and _Death Eaters_ , causing Malfoy to glare silently at him.

“Err...” was all Harry could manage and Hermione violently shook his arm, as though he didn't understand on purpose.

“Professor Snape here wants me to be the second Dreamer and leave you alone with them in the further dreams. But I can't let this happen and-”

“What Miss Granger fails to comprehend,” Snape cut across her dryly, “is that a dream within a dream is already difficult to maintain and that this effect will only worsen in the lower levels. The third and the fourth Dreamer will need to control themselves and close their mind to any outer disturbance. And in order to do that, they have to achieve Occlumency. A fact I really doubt you have been trained for, Miss Granger.” He glared at her, eyes narrowed. “Contrary to Mr. Malfoy and me,” he finished haughtily.

Hermione's eyes widened, but she didn't reply. A few seconds passed in silence, as she mulled over the idea, before her shoulders sagged in defeat. She glanced sadly at Harry, whispering in a tiny, deflated voice, “He's right. The deepest Dreamers will have to resist the shocks happening in the upper layers and prevent their dream from collapsing. And I couldn't do it.” She bit her lips, head low and Harry moved a tentative hand towards her, brushing her shoulder.

Suddenly Hermione launched herself into his arms, clutching him desperately. “Promise me you will be careful, Harry. I don't trust them,” she murmured in his ear and Harry nodded, returning her embrace. Finally she disentangled herself and went to sit on the worn-out bed, causing a little cloud of dust to rise. Ron came next to her and squeezed her hand and Hermione smiled lightly.

“Good,” Snape announced. “If all the issues are resolved, we can move to the next dream. Miss Granger, please lay down and remember Hogwarts in detail. That's where the next Horcrux is hidden.”

As Hermione obeyed and closed her eyes, Snape turned towards Ron and frowned. “As much as I hate this, when we are asleep, you will be the only one able to protect us. And I can assure you we'll not be alone for long. Projections will begin to appear and you will have to push them away. The slightest disturbance of our bodies could cause incredible damage in the lower dreams.” He let the words seep in before adding, “And remember to cast _Cadere_ when you hear the end of the song or we won't be able to leave all the dreams simultaneously.”

Ron nodded and drew out his wand, his eyes never leaving Hermione's concentrated face.


	3. Chapter 3

oOo

_ 3 Chapter _

_2 nd level: Hermione's dream, Hogwarts Castle_

Hermione put down the spoon she was holding and brushed a strand of curled hair out of her eyes. Malfoy was bent over his own cauldron, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, while Harry and Neville had to stifle their laughter at the back of the class. Snape turned back from the blackboard, frowning, ready to bark at them, but he stilled suddenly, hovering for a moment, the chalk in his hand. Finally he shook his head lightly as if to gather his thoughts, put down the chalk on his desk and drawled. “Class dismissed.”

Thirty pair of eyes blinked at him in bewilderment for a few seconds, then, suddenly, everyone hurried to pack their things and fled away before Snape changed his mind. Only Harry, Hermione and Malfoy were lingering behind, taking their time and waiting for the others to depart. Neville stopped on the threshold and looked back at Harry, a puzzled expression on his face. “Harry?” he asked tentatively.

Harry forced a smile at him. “Don't worry, I'll be right behind you. We'll meet in the Common Room.”

Neville frowned, then nodded slowly, not seeming to be really convinced. “Well, ok then,” he mumbled and disappeared through the door. Harry let out a relieved sigh and turned back to the others. Snape cleared his throat, attracting their attention.

“I know the Dark Lord has created three Horcruxes from relics belonging in the past to the Founders: Slytherin's locket, which we have just destroyed, but also Ravenclaw's diadem and Hufflepuff's cup. I know Bellatrix Lestrange hid the cup in her Gringotts' Vault so I assumed the diadem could appear in a dream featuring Hogwarts.” He stayed quiet for a little while, deep in thought. “I think we have to begin the researches in the Ravenclaw Tower. There we have the most chances to find it.”

“No.” Draco said quietly, interrupting Snape. “No, the diadem will not be there.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked, distrustful.

“Because we're looking for something the Dark Lord doesn't want us to find, something he hid. And there is only one place for that.”

“The Room of Hidden Things!” Harry exclaimed, staring at Malfoy. “I've been there too, and it's a fantastic mess. For years everyone has been getting rid of everything up there. If the diadem has to be anywhere, it's there.”

Malfoy's eyes sparkled. A weak smile barely stretched his lips for just a second, before his icy mask regained its place, and Harry felt something strange unfurling in his chest.

He'd never noticed how Malfoy's attitude with his constant smirk and disgusted expression tended to make his features pointier, sharper. For the first time he had seen Malfoy really smile, and even with how weak it was, he seemed to him Malfoy was softened, younger with the faintest glow of lost innocence.

And now Harry was wondering how Malfoy could look when he was genuinely happy, with his pale grey eyes and his always perfect platinum hair. And his thin lips stretched and glinting and…

Harry cut short his train of thoughts, horrified. Trying to hide his sudden blushing, he stalked to the door, not daring to meet anyone's gaze. Merlin, they really needed to finish this rapidly, so he could avoid the blond for the rest of his life. And never, _ever_ , think again about him.

##

They headed for the main stairs, trudging through swarms of students in the narrow corridors. Harry huffed, elbowing two boys aside with difficulty. It was as though all of Hogwarts had decided to get in their way.

“Harry, they're staring at us,” Hermione whispered in his ear, hand on the wand hidden in her jeans pocket.

“Keep your eyes open,” Snape muttered, a few steps in front of them. “They have noticed the Dreamer. If anyone of them try anything, be ready to _Stupefy_ them. And never forget they are not real.”

Harry nodded stiffly. A lump of nervousness was stuck in his throat, making his breathing difficult. They were moving through an actual sea of potential enemies and the strike could surge from anywhere at any time. How reassuring…

“Oi!”

He just had the time to glance aside to see Malfoy falling flat against the floor. A little away from him stood three Ravenclaw girls, wands out and _Tripping hex_ still on their lips.

“Fucking bitches!” Malfoy roared and pushed himself on his knees, fumbling for his own wand.

“Draco, stop,” Snape hissed and Malfoy stilled, hand in his sleeve. Harry looked slowly around him and his breath hitched when he noticed the deathly silence surrounding them. No more happy chatters or angry rants, all the students had stopped and were staring at them, as stiff and unblinking as Muggle statues and Harry felt suddenly like a cornered doe. He swallowed slowly and helped Malfoy to stand up, hyper aware of each presence around him.

“Don't move,” Snape whispered.

One minute passed, then a second, their heavy breathing the only sound to break the stiff silence.

And as brusquely as it had stilled, life resumed its course and the students took up again on their conversations, laughing and arguing, walking fluidly around the little group in a continuous flow.

##

They reached the seventh floor without any more interruptions, advancing through now empty corridors and Harry let out a relieved sigh, already glimpsing the end of their journey.

“Severus.”

They stopped short, immediately recognizing the tell-tale strong Scottish accent. And soon indeed, Professor McGonagall turned around a corner, a stern expression on her wrinkled face. “I've searched for you everywhere. Could you please come with me, I have to talk with you about one of your students, Tobias Harper.”

_Shit…_

Snape stiffened and his face twisted in an ugly expression, as he was probably searching for a decent way to smoothly get rid of her.

“I'm afraid I am otherwise occupied, Minerva.” He sniffed. “I found these three fighting again and I was ushering them towards the dungeons, where they could serve proper detention.”

McGonagall glanced at the teenagers, lips pinched, obviously unconvinced. Finally her gaze settled on Hermione and she shook disapprovingly her head. “You, Miss Granger? I dare say I'm rather disappointed. I never thought you could lower yourself to this.” Then, addressing to Snape, “Argus can take care of them, Severus. I just saw him on the second floor. Do you want me to send him to you, so you can meet me in my office?”

Taking advantage of this un-hoped for occasion, Snape nodded briefly and drawled, voice dripping with annoyance. “I'll thank you for that, Minerva. I have better things to do than supervise a bunch of stupid brawling teenagers.” He sighed exaggeratedly, emphasizing his point.

“All right then. I'll go and fetch Argus.” She turned away and Snape flicked his chin, silently instructing them to _bloody move and fast before something else happens_.

But, they barely had the time to take two steps ahead than a dreaded figure jumped out of the shadows and hugged a dumbfounded McGonagall.

“Minerva! I missed you so much, you old bat!” Sirius greeted her cheerfully, before smacking two clacking kisses on her cheeks. He looked up and grinned mischievously, eyes sparkling with mirth. “My, my, if it isn't this greasy snake? Not too much light here, hey Severus? Or do you want to cower back to your dear gloomy dungeons?”

Snape gawked in outraged surprise, Hermione's eyebrows lifted up nearly to her hairline and Malfoy shot at Harry a glare so dark all Harry wanted was to sink through the floor.

Oh by Merlin, God, Godric or anyone else he could think of, they were in so much trouble. No, correction, _he_ was in so much trouble, considering _he_ was the one who'd brought Sirius here.

Rapidly gathering his shocked wits, Snape plastered a blatant fake smile on his face and drawled. “Sirius, what a surprise to see you here. Especially when you have absolutely no reason to be.”

He glanced back ominously at the little group and Harry's ashamed blush certainly betrayed him, as Snape's glare lingered on him, eyes narrowed and promising a severe tongue-lashing later.

McGonagall seemed to have recovered as well from her previous shock, because suddenly she was striding back to them, her large robes billowing menacingly behind her. “Indeed, Mr. Black, could you explain to us the reasons of your presence here? I'm afraid I wasn't informed of your return.”

Sirius bowed theatrically, a hand on his chest, the other extended far behind him in a clownish interpretation of a formal greeting. “It would be my pleasure, dearest Professor. Actually I came here to save Harry.”

“Save Harry?” McGonagall repeated, her head cocked in a sceptical expression.

Sirius nodded emphatically, encircling Harry's shoulders with one arm and pulling him forcefully against his chest. Harry groaned and tried to escape, but Sirius' grip only tightened. “Don't you know where we are in this moment? Not in Hogwarts, I can tell you.”

McGonagall's eyes narrowed, but she made no move to interrupt his tirade.

“We're in a dream, you know. All of this,” he held out his free hand, embracing the old stony corridor and by extension, the whole castle. Profiting from his wide movement, Harry finally disentangled himself of the unwanted hug and stepped back, Hermione immediately at his side, “all of this is just a dream.” Sirius went on, undisturbed, “And she,” he pointed out accusingly Hermione, “is the Dreamer. The intruder, the parasite. The one you are all searching for.” He grinned derisively, obviously delighted by the bombshell he just dropped.

“Bloody little-” Snape roared, wand out in an instant but Sirius erupted in giggles and, grabbing Hermione's arm, violently threw her at McGonagall's feet. Hermione screamed and fell on her knees, barely keeping herself from smashing her face against the cold stone.

In front of her, McGonagall bent slightly without a word, gentle hand extended towards the younger witch. But Hermione barely had the time to brush against the wrinkled fingers, than McGonagall was gasping and falling backwards, her dark robes flapping weakly around her. She hit the floor with a dull thud, her widened eyes staring blankly ahead and a red light dying slowly on her chest.

Hermione yelped and crawl away, her hands flying to cover his mouth. Harry whirled toward Snape, who was calming tucking away his wand in his sleeve.

As if nothing special had happened.

_As if he didn't just killed McGonagall!_

Harry's brain seemed to have frozen in shock and he was wobbling, his shaking legs not able to carry him any more. He wanted to scream, to cry, to run away. It was Dumbledore's death all over again and a wave of intense fury washed over him, blurring his vision and befuddling his mind. He was gone back to that awful night, yelling helplessly, trying and failing to hit Dumbledore's murderer.

“What- What have you done?” he hissed between teeth clenched so tightly he could feel his jaw crack. Last time he had failed to slay this bloody viper and today it had killed again.

But now, fuck Dumbledore and Kingsley and all of the ones who swore to him Snape was their ally, he was going to slaughter him like a dog.

 _Sectumsempra_ already on the tip of his tongue, he raised his wand.

“Put that down, Mr. Potter,” Snape announced dryly, looking down at him like he was just an annoying brat and Harry's rage only flared brighter.

“You killed her! You killed her like you killed Dumbledore!” Harry shouted, voice cracking with repressed tears.

“Stupid child, it wasn't McGonagall!” Snape snapped back. “It was just a Projection and it was going to attack Miss Granger.”

“Liar!” Harry howled, ready to strike, and only Hermione's broken whisper stopped him.

“Harry.”

“Harry,” she repeated weakly as he was turning towards her, his wand arm falling limply to his side. She was curled up in a tight ball, staring at a blank spot in front of her. Harry's breath hitched as realization dawned on him.

_McGonagall was gone._

It was as if she had never existed.

A Projection… Harry closed his eyes and exhaled a couple of long breaths, stilling the frenetic beats of his heart. A Projection. She was- No, _it_ was a Projection. Not a real living being. Not McGonagall. Just a twist of theirs minds. Oh god…

He stepped forwards and bent down to lift Hermione up. She immediately pressed herself against his chest, half-sobbing, and he hugged her tightly. They stayed in the embrace for a few seconds, before Hermione gently disentangled herself and blew out a shaky breath.

“It's fine, Harry. She wasn't real and Snape didn't kill anyone,” she reasoned more for herself than for anyone else.

Snape snorted haughtily at them. “Mr. Potter, I can assure you, you will have to respond to Black's presence here,” he warned balefully. “But for now we haven't the time. Thanks to your sweet Projection, all the castle is going to give chase to us. We have to hurry to the Room of Requirement and barricade ourselves there.” Then after a last glare, he turned back and walked away, muttering under his breath.

Malfoy hovered a while next to Harry and Hermione, his face livid and his mouth slightly agape as if he was struggling to say something. But he only swallowed and, lifting up a trembling chin, followed Snape away.

Hermione nodded faintly, still in shock, but rapidly slid again in his scowling habitual self. “Harry, we have to talk about this. About the reasons of Sirius' presence here. Is it some-” Harry lifted a shushing hand up, scanning the now empty corridor.

“He's gone,” he murmured, not daring to break the almost oppressing silence. Hermione looked around and her mouth opened in a mute O of realization. Sirius must have used her as a diversion to slip by and avoid Snape's impending _Stupefy_.

But it meant he was going to come back again and again and Harry shivered as his words echoed in his head. _She's the Dreamer. The intruder, the parasite._ He had sold Hermione to the Projections, turning her into a shining target they could easily hunt.

Sirius, the real Sirius, couldn't have done such a thing. He was the man who was ready to die to protect his friends' secret, the one who chased Pettigrew for having betrayed them. He was as faithful as his dog Animagus, ever on their side, helping them, protecting them. Dying for them…

And this other man was only a devilish clown, a precarious assembling of memories and fantasies, far away from the real one, so complex with all his hidden burdens and untold stories Harry couldn't even imagine. No, it wasn't Sirius…

Just a deadly enemy hidden under the deceptive broad smile of his departed godfather.

 _He's a Projection of your subconscious, Potter. He can be very dangerous, you know._ Malfoy's worried voice kept repeating in his mind and for once in his life, Harry couldn't bring himself to shut him up.

##

“There.” Snape lowered his wand, the magic crackling of his latest spell still sensitive in the air. At his side, Hermione was checking the wards settled on the large ornate door. Sitting on bunches of heterogeneous abandoned trinkets, Harry and Malfoy were watching them completing their task, being rather rudely thrown out when they had dared to propose their help.

Harry was idly toying with an intriguing metal object, long and flat with six blunt pikes at one end, giving the appearance of an overgrown fork. He smiled, amused by the soft gargling sound it produced each time he shook it. Next to him, Malfoy was huffing and rolling his eyes at his childish behaviour, that only made Harry grin wider.

Finally Snape put away his wand, his eyes roaming appreciatively one last time over his work, a little smirk on the corner of his lips. “That should do it,” he stated, before turning back to the boys and glaring at Harry, clearly indicating he was far from off the hook. “And I hope this time Mr Potter will know how to keep the sieve he calls a brain in check and not favour us with Mr. Black's presence any more.”

Harry swallowed hard, barely keeping himself from cowering like a first year under the baleful glare of his Potions Professor.

“Good,” Snape added. “Now we have solved that little issue, we could move to the real objective of this dream, namely destroy the Horcrux. Miss Granger, as you will be the one to guard this door while we'll be asleep, I advise you to set to work immediately, while Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy and I search for the diadem."

Hermione nodded, walking immediately to her place next to the door. Harry turned back, taking in the immensity of the room, crammed up to the ceiling with its countless shaky stacks of long forgotten junk and swallowed hard. It was going to take a long time…

##

Harry huffed and threw away the golden little cup he was holding. He sat back on his heels and looked around desperately. Everywhere were only broken pieces of furniture, ripped books, collapsed statues and things so strange and distorted it was impossible to determine what they used to be, all clumsily stacked up in piles so high and wobbly Harry was afraid they would crumble down at the slightest abrupt gesture.

How Snape could even hope that they would manage to retrieve a single diadem in all this mess?

 He sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes, suddenly crushed down by the vastness of his task. Next to him he could hear Malfoy struggle with his own pile, swearing and ranting each time he discarded a new piece of rubbish. And one could say there were quite a lot...

Harry felt a smile creeping on his lips at this rumpled version of the blond, so at odds with his customary perfectly trimmed and uptight self. Now his former slicked back hair was falling in loose strands in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision, and a few stray locks were pointing up next to his right ear. He almost looked like he had fought a mountain troll and shamefully lost.

Harry hid a chuckle behind his hand and Malfoy's head snapped up, grey eyes narrowed and a dark smudge covering almost all of his left cheek. "What?" he snapped aggressively.

Harry shrugged, badly concealing his snicker, happy to just be childish for a little while.

“I think,” he mused, taking an agonizing moment to taunt the blond. “You have a smear here." He said, designing his own cheek.

Malfoy lifted an unconvinced eyebrow, then finally wiped the smudge away with the back of his hand. Loudly sliding down to the floor, he sprawled against a discarded rusty chest. He lowered his head, his wild fringe almost completely hiding his face.

“You know, Potter, I spent most of last year here and...” His voice broke under the sudden surge of memories and Harry let him silently collect his thoughts, scooting over to him, just a little closer. “And this place is basically infinite. I think it even grows each time someone leaves something here.” He let out a shaky laugh. “So could you explain me how we are supposed to find a stupid diadem here?” he finished tiredly, mirroring Harry's previous thoughts.

“We'll manage, Malfoy,” Harry replied, much more firmly he really felt and Malfoy spared him a sceptical glance, before throwing his head back, thudding against the metallic lock of the trunk.

“I don't know, Potter. I really don't know. Sometimes I wonder where you get your faith from. Because, just look around, the Dark Lord has won. Black is dead, Dumbledore is dead. He controls the Ministry _and_ Hogwarts. How could we have the slightest chance to win?”

He glanced at Harry, his cold eyes falling to conceal the flecks of his inner fear and of something else. Something strangely akin to… hope? Harry's breath hitched when he realized Malfoy, _Draco Bloody Malfoy,_ the git who had spitefully laughed at him for six years, was waiting for an answer, for a little bit of hope. _From him._

Harry stood up and moved towards Malfoy, and surprisingly the blond slid aside to give him some room. Harry sat next to him, back against the trunk, closer to Malfoy he had ever been without actually hitting him. He could almost feel the warmth of the other body and the brush of Malfoy's breath against his face.

And Malfoy was waiting, open and vulnerable, all his fears and uncertainties displayed on his face.

And Harry knew. He knew Malfoy was afraid and lost, seeking comfort and reassurance behind all his smirks and hurtful words. He knew he was a little boy propelled too early into the adults' world, forced to learn too fast and harshly paying for his mistakes. He glanced down to Malfoy's left forearm, his long sleeve hiding the black snake and skull, and Malfoy's right hand went immediately to cover it, the grey eyes narrowing, daring Harry to comment.

So Harry smiled warmly, trying to convey all the reassurance he could. And Malfoy answered back, a wan little smile creeping upon his face and the icy silver of his eyes warming up. His pale hand brushed tentatively against Harry's arm, before rapidly withdrawing, as if afraid Harry would back away in horror.

But all Harry could do was stare, stare at his dishevelled white-blond hair almost as messy as his own, at the dust hanging at the points, at his collar, spread along his neck, and at that genuine smile of his directed at him and Harry was revelling at how much it transformed Malfoy, eroding his haughty and disdainful image and making him more human, more accessible,… And perhaps even desirable?

He should have been afraid of such a thought. Afraid because he was studying Malfoy's face, catching even the little details, such as the tiny scar just up by his right ear. And afraid of this strange fluttering emotion bubbling in his chest. But Harry just tuned it out. It was just a dream, wasn't it? None of this was real, even their bodies were only projections of their subconscious. So to find this Malfoy attractive didn't matter in the real world because as soon as Harry would look at the real one, he would remember how ugly and pointy the ferret actually was, wouldn't he?

##

_1 rst level: Ron's dream, 12, Grimmauld Place_

Ron yawned loudly, not even bothering to hide it behind his hand this time. Standing up, he stretched his back and paced up and down the little room. Merlin, he was bored, he was so bored.

Stupid Snape had repeated again and again they would have to stay on their toes because danger could surge from anywhere. And now he was here, bored to death, waiting for a bloody song to begin…

He was so busy whinging, he didn't even hear the soft footsteps padding towards the closed door, nor the slight creaking of its hinges.

Ron grumbled and kicked at a fallen green marble. He watched it lazily roll on the floor, before bending down and picking it up, turning it between his fingers.

Suddenly a shadow caught the corner of his eye and he whirled around, wand ready and marble discarded on the floor, his blue eyes widening in horror.

Kreacher was sitting on Hermione's chest, painfully pulling at her hair. “Dirty Mudblood! Dirty, dirty!” He squealed and scratched her face, leaving tell-tale red scrapes in his trail.

Without even think about it, Ron jumped on the House-Elf with a guttural howl, grabbing him forcefully and throwing him against the floor. “Fucking little shit! You have no right to touch her!” he roared, eyes blazing with unleashed fury, and sank one knee on Kreacher's chest, wand pointed out at his throat.

Kreacher thrashed about, screeching and clacking his little sharp teeth in the air. He viciously managed to bite Ron's hand and the redhead yelped and bucked back, allowing Kreacher to slide out of his grasp.

The House-Elf fled through the door, chased by a barking Ron, ordering him to fucking come back. Finally Ron stopped in the middle of the corridor, still shaking with wrath. He snorted and took a few breaths, stilling the frenetic beating of his heart, before returning to the bedroom and claiming his place on the bed, near to Hermione. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, gently tracing the shallow scratches on the girl's face and, sliding his hand in her fuzzy brown hair, he tried to comb it the best he could.

Satisfied, he smiled fondly at her sleeping face, his eyes soft, before turning back to the once again closed door, wand in hand and senses on alert.

##

_2 nd level: Hermione's dream, Hogwarts Castle_

Harry reluctantly pushed himself off the chest and stood up. “I think we should go back to work,” he said gently, extending his hand for Malfoy. But the blond had just the time to catch it before a low rumble startled them. The floor began to shake and Harry lost his balance, releasing Malfoy's hand and harshly hitting a steel cage behind him. He looked up and saw the stacks wobbling ominously, small objects falling here and there, metal stridently hitting the stone floor. Malfoy tried to lift himself, but the quake brusquely sent him back to the floor.

“Malfoy!” Harry yelled, but it was too late. The pile overhanging Malfoy collapsed on him in a deafening roar, sending broken pieces fly in all directions. Harry felt his blood icing in his veins and, gathering his forces, he propelled himself forward. Crouching on the scattered pile, he desperately dug through the rubble, yelling the blond's name again and again and praying, praying he was still alive.

By the time he had freed Malfoy's head, bruised and dirty, the quake had ceased as abruptly as it had begun. An ugly slice was marring Malfoy's pale right cheek and Harry's breath caught in his throat. But then the long blond eyelashes fluttered and Malfoy looked confusedly at him. Harry let out a long relieved breath, his heart resuming to beat.

“Are you all right?” He asked gently and Malfoy looked blankly around, before nodding.

“I think I have nothing broken.”

“What happened?” he asked, while Harry helped to extracted himself from the debris.

“I don't know. It was… Err… Like an earthquake or something.”

Malfoy frowned, as he was trying to smooth his crumpled robes. “It was the dream itself. Granger's body should had been shaken in the upper dream. As usual, we can't count on Weasley,” he snorted haughtily, his nose up.

Harry opened his mouth to retort something, but a spark of something behind Malfoy caught his eyes. There, lying on the floor in the middle of fallen trinkets, was Ravenclaw's diadem, its blue sapphire catching the light of the room. Following Harry's gaze, Malfoy turned back, gasping.

The blond stood up, conjuring a Basilisk Fang in his hand and Harry watched him walking determinedly towards the Horcrux. He let his gaze linger on the slim back hidden under the green robes and sighed. At least Malfoy really didn't seem injured. After, why he had been so afraid for the blond's life, Harry really didn't want to ponder about it yet. Or never. After all, it was only a dream, right?

##

Malfoy was crouched next to the diadem, observing it warily, when Harry caught up to him. He spared him an unfathomable look, before raising the fang ready to strike.

And then Harry saw it. The way the tiara seemed to pulse angrily and it immediately reminded him of the locket.

_The Horcrux was going to defend itself!_

“Watch out!” Harry yelled, but it was too late. Malfoy had already stabbed the diadem in the front, causing it to hiss and fume, before exploding in sharp shatters flying in all directions. Harry immediately dived onto the floor, hands over his head and eyes firmly closed.

Soon only silence remained and Harry took a cautious peek behind his arm. Malfoy was curled on the ground, whimpering, his hands tightly pressed at his flank. Harry immediately jumped back on his feet and ran to his side, kneeling.

“Malfoy? Are you all right?” he whispered and immediately cursed himself for having asked such a dumb question. Because, obviously Malfoy wasn't all right, if the blood smearing his ribs was anything to go by.

“Of course, Potter, I breathe health, don't you see,” Malfoy snickered weakly, before yelling. “No, idiot! That fucking diadem has just blown up in front of my face!”

Harry's brain seemed to have suddenly stopped. God, Malfoy was hurt! They had survived the collapsing of a mountain of rubbish and Harry had let a stupid bloody tiara hurt him!

“Can- Can I see?” He sputtered and Malfoy gave him a withering look, before sliding his hands away from his wound. Harry refrained himself with difficulty from cringing. Two razor-sharp shards of metal were stuck into Malfoy's skin, jutting out like sinister arrow heads.

“Oh god, it's my fault. It's my fault. I should have warned you, I should have. Oh god,” he babbled incoherently, until Malfoy punched him in the shoulder, efficiently shutting him up.

“Calm down, Potter. I thought _you_ were supposed to be the hero, here,” Malfoy groaned and in a strange kind of way, hearing Malfoy's usual jab helped Harry to even his breath.

“Seeing the way you panicked, I suppose you don't know any spells to heal me, do you?” Malfoy tried to smirk, but it only came out as an ugly grimace.

Harry shook his head, helpless. “Sorry, I'm pants at these.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, clenching his teeth to choke a cry of pain. “So, what do you think of moving and fetching Severus instead of just standing there and looking at me, bleeding to death?”

“Right. Yes, of course, right, fetch Severus,” Harry stammered, fumbling for his wand. He couldn't understand why he hadn't thought about it himself, but in his defence, he couldn't think of anything either. It was as if he was submerged in a treacle sea, struggling for every move, for every thought. The only think which mattered was that Malfoy was badly hurt. Because of him. Because he hadn't been fast enough, because he hadn't destroyed the Horcrux himself, because…

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then raised his wand, casting a blue ray of light far above their heads, illuminating the ceiling.

Snape was going to come. He was going to heal Malfoy, and fix Harry's mistake. Once again.

_Once again._

The hiss of the bathroom pipes surrounded him. Myrtle was screeching, madly flying around him. And Malfoy was lying on the floor, bleeding, bleeding… Because of Harry…

“I'm sorry,” Harry whispered, guilt tears prickling at his eyes.

Malfoy weakly shook his head. “It wasn't your fault, Potter. In any case, one of us would have been injured.”

“No, I meant, for last year.”

“Oh.” Was all Malfoy answered and the silence fell back, overwhelming, Malfoy's more and more ragged breath the only sound between them.

Finally Malfoy murmured quietly, his grey eyes avoiding Harry's. “You have nothing to apologize for, Potter. If you hadn't hit me first, I would have _Crucio'd_ you.”

“But, I-” Harry began, but Malfoy cut across dryly.

“Potter, that's enough. Just leave it be and consider we're even, okay? Besides, I can assure you, you weren't the worst.”

Harry closed his open mouth, swallowing what he wanted to say and rehashing Malfoy's words in his head. Yes, Malfoy had wanted to _Crucio_ him, but in the end, Harry had almost killed him. Would have killed him if Snape hadn't been there. So they couldn't just be even, could they?

But Malfoy was glaring at him now, trying his best not to cry, although two metal sticks were sunk in his flesh, and Harry was suddenly wondering what this former sissy boy had had to endure under Voldemort's law, so that he didn't even whinge.

So maybe Malfoy was right, maybe there was worse. Maybe they could just let bygones be bygones and move on.

“Yes,” Harry answered slowly. “Yes, I think we're even.”

##

Snape rushed through the collapsed rubble, Hermione in tow.

“What happened?” he roared, wand in hand, ready for a scathing lecture, but the words died in his throat when he caught in Malfoy's curled up form.

Pushing Harry away, he knelt besides the blond and gently moved away his pressing hands.

“Draco, what happened?” he repeated in a soft worried tone that Harry would never have thought possible coming from him.

Malfoy opened his mouth to answer, but Harry didn't give him the time to speak.

“He had been caught within the explosion of the diadem.”

Snape gave him a withering glare, effectively shutting him up, before focusing again on Malfoy.

“So it was the Horcrux? Right…” he muttered thoughtfully, then, lifting his wand up, proceeded to cast a few spells on Malfoy's wound.

Behind him, Hermione slipped next to Harry. “Are you all right?” she whispered and Harry nodded swiftly without even looking at her, his eyes tracing Snape's every movement.

Finally, as Snape was taking a break to examine more thoroughly the metal shards, Harry couldn't stand it anymore and burst.

“Why don't you just remove them?! You can't close the wound as long as they're in!”

Three pairs of eyes blinked at him in surprise and Harry swallowed, trying and failing to stop himself from fidgeting nervously.

“Because, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled, taking his excruciating time. “The diadem was cursed and if I try anything, the shards would only sink further.” He stayed quiet for a moment, before glancing at Malfoy, sighing.

“I'm afraid I can't do anything. No Healing spell will work and we can't touch the wound without risking killing you.”

Mallfoy whimpered, closing his eyes and curling up even further into a tight little ball.

Nobody dared to speak in what seemed like hours, until Hermione asked in a tiny voice, already dreading the answer. “But if we leave him like that, the curse is going to kill him, right?”

“Yes,” Snape stated, his voice so unbearably calm and indifferent, all Harry wanted was to shake him up and force him to say he could do something, that all of it was just a stupid joke and he was going to heal Malfoy right away.

“But we can try to slow it down until we wake up,” Snape went on calmly. “Mr. Malfoy's real body isn't affected, so if he survives in the dream, he would be as if nothing happened.” He sighed. “I'd hoped to stay with Mr. Potter during the four levels of dreams, but the circumstances have changed. In the lower levels, the pain will be less intense and Mr. Malfoy will be able to resist longer.”

“So, what are we doing?” Hermione asked, coming to kneel besides Malfoy too, Harry hovering like a bird of prey around them.

“I will be the next Dreamer and Mr. Malfoy will be the last one. Miss Granger, you cast the spell now and then you go take back your place next to the door. Nobody is to enter or we would all be killed.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed reluctantly, taking out her wand.

When Harry was lying down next to her, she cast him a worried look and bent down to kiss his cheek, whispering in his ear. “Harry, from now on, you will be alone. So always keep your eyes open. And for God's sake, keep Sirius at bay.” She swallowed, before adding, “We will speak of all of that later, I promise.”

And for once, Harry was just happy to fall asleep and escape Hermione's impending lecture.


	4. Chapter 4

oOo

_ Chapter 4 _

_3 rd level: Snape's dream, Godric's Hollow_

Draco blew out a long breath, clutching his side. He inhaled deeply and finally opened his eyes, squinting in the dim light of the street lamps.

Judging by the high cracked stone facades of the houses around him, he was standing in a little countryside village.

In the middle of the night.

He suppressed a shiver, suddenly crushed by the oppressive silence surrounding him. Apparently Potter and Severus should have appeared somewhere else in… In… Where they were actually?

He glanced around, not recognising anything behind the closed windows and the locked doors. He took a tentative first step ahead, jaw tense, hands pressed at his broken ribs, waiting for the sharp bite of pain.

But none came.

Only a dull lingering tingle when the muscles shifted. Draco sighed, relieved. Apparently Severus was right and diving into the next dream had helped. He looked down at his side, finally allowing his hands to slide down, and his eyes widened.

They were no tears any more in his robes, the fabric smooth between his fingers. It was clean and unrumpled as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't been crushed down by a bloody mountain of rusty junk only minutes earlier.

Parting his robes slightly, he slipped his hand under the pull-over he wore beneath and patted at his flank. His skin there was soft and dry, the painful metal shards vanished, the blood evaporated. But when his fingers pressed a bit too strongly against his flesh, Draco closed his eyes, biting his lips. Well, he should nevertheless sport a good bruise here.

Suddenly a flash of memory burst into his mind, knocking his breath away as efficiently as a physical hit in the chest. He saw himself, curled up on the dusty floor of the Room of Requirement, eyes closed and teeth clenched, trying to will away the pain and the tears, trying not to appear weak and feeble, not to be the shame of the Malfoy name. And Voldemort's mad laughter echoing in his skull, dragging him back to the Manor where he was writhing at the Dark Lord's feet under the _Cruciatus_ curse.

But this time, Potter was there, kneeling at his side, so close he could feel the warmth emanating from his body, his emerald eyes wide and shining, his features drawn with panic. Potter had been afraid. He had been afraid. For him. For his life…

##

The soft shuffle of feet coming towards him snatched Draco out of his musings and he turned swiftly on his feet, drawing his wand, and came face to face with… _Potter?_

The big green eyes were looking worriedly at him, questioning.

“How are you? Do you feel any pain?” Potter asked, and immediately Draco had to stamp out the ridiculous bubble of happiness rising in his stomach at Potter's obvious concern.

No. He'd be damned if he'd let himself morph into one of those hare-brained star-struck Harry Potter groupies. That bunch of morons who stupidly think Potter is the one who will save them all. As if he could defeat the Dark Lord single-handed. Honestly…

Really, they just had to look at him. The scrawny git with his rat nest instead of hair, wild and chaotic and truly an insult to good taste. And his oversized worn-out clothes, so baggy Draco would think Potter never matured if he'd never taken a peek at him under the Quidditch showers. And most of all, those monstrosities he dared to call glasses, round and thick, hideously framing his radiant green eyes and making him look more like an overgrown fly than an actual human. Truly if the idiot could only want to pay a little more attention to himself, he could be quite decent. Maybe. If one doesn't take a too close look at him.

But for now, Potter was staring so intensely Draco could feel the beginning of a blush creeping onto his cheeks and he had to turn away, grumbling.

“I'm fine, back off, Potter. Where are we?”

Potter took a step back, his eyes darkening in obvious incomprehension and hurt, and Draco felt the stupid need to excuse himself for his dry tone. But Potter had already shoved his hands into his jeans pockets with a shrug and was scrubbing the tip on his trainers against the gravelled road.

“Godric's Hollow,” he mumbled, sombrely kicking a pebble away.

Draco lifted an unconvinced eyebrow and waited in silence until Potter finally huffed and added.

“That's where my parents lived.”

Ah.

Draco barely kept himself from fidgeting, sensing he should say something but failing to grasp it.

Silence stretched heavily between them, Potter still hunched and focused on the gravel, until Draco couldn't stand it anymore. He cleared his throat and drawled as nonchalantly as he could manage.

“Have you ever returned to it before?”

And immediately bit his lip, mentally slapping himself. Merlin, what had possessed him to ask something so stupid? Honestly did all common sense really slip away from him the second he met Potter?

Potter however was suddenly very still and very stiff, eyes wide in shock, before he dismissed the question with a shrug and a curt, “No. But apparently Snape has.” Then, he squared his shoulders and flicked his chin towards the end of the road, not quite meeting Draco's eyes.

“We should hurry. He's waiting for us now,” he added in that same carefully indifferent voice, so false and full of barely hidden hurt that all Draco want was to shake him roughly.

Then the green eyes glanced back and quickly slid down Draco's side, pausing for a few seconds at the exact place where the metal shards had sank into the skin, and he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Potter opened his mouth as if he was going to say something but only closed it again and shook his head quickly. Turning back, he strode away, back painfully straight and tense, and Draco had to struggle not to foolishly run after him.

And then what? Hug him? Tell him everything was going to be alright? That no one was going to hurt him any more?

  1. As if Draco could for one second believe one word of this. He hastily quelled this sudden absurd wish to make Potter feel safe.



As if the Gryffindor couldn't protect himself. As if Draco could protect someone, he, who was already struggling with protecting himself. No really, sometimes he really needed to get back on earth.

Draping himself in his Pureblood manners, Draco straightened his robes and smoothed his collar, before strolling in Potter's trail.

##

They met Severus in front of one of the old cottages scattered along the road. His godfather was standing on the pavement, facing a house, but not really looking at it. His dark eyes were staring ahead, far away from them, at an invisible point lost in his thoughts. He had this same haunted look on his face that Draco had glimpsed when the elder man had explained to him the truth about his role in the war. This strange mixture of melancholy and determination, these reined in feelings seeping through the fissure of his poised mask, so intense and vivid Draco had to look away. Instead, his eyes roamed along the little narrow road, before finally daring to examine the house.

The cottage was surprisingly common, for a place which seemed to bring back so many emotions in his always so composed godfather. Ivy was covering almost a half of its grey brick walls, encircling the closed shutters of the windows. From the entrance door to the wood gate, a white gravel path was dividing a neat garden in two. Flowers were blooming in their beds, little spots of varied colour in the dark night.

“We should go in. We don't have the time to stall.” Draco glanced aside to Potter, standing next to him, his green eyes hard and unwavering, apparently eager to just end this dream as fast as possible. And considering the memories he should be going through at this moment, Draco couldn't really blame him.

Severus cleared his throat and turned towards them, his eyes still a bit dazed as if he hadn't completely managed to tear himself from his memories. “Potter,” he murmured, his voice so low both boys had to lean forwards to hear him. “Whatever we find in there, never forget they are only Projections.” He shook his head lightly, his eyes hardening as he finally slipped back into his customary aloof self. He drawled, chin high.

“The Horcrux we seek is Nagini herself. And this time, think for a second about how she's going to defend herself.”

And, with that, he pushed open the gate and strode towards the door.

Potter exhaled a long breath and his shoulders slumped, his bright Gryffindor confidence suddenly faltering. He shuffled his feet, head low, wild strands of black hair hiding his face.

And suddenly, without even pause to think about it, Draco was slipping his hand into Potter's limp palm and squeezing. Potter's head jerked up and he blinked owlishly, his eyes rapidly flying back and forth between their joined hands and Draco's face. Then he cracked a tentative little smile and squeezed back, his eyes soft, and Draco had to fight a renewing blush. Coughing, he quickly took back his hand and stalked ahead, feeling Potter's gaze lingering on his back.

##

Severus already had his hand on the knob, lips pinched, apparently waiting for them. When Potter and Draco approached, he glanced silently at them, before focusing back on the handle and finally turning it.

He had only begun to open the door, when it was suddenly wrenched away from his grip, revealing a young woman in her early twenties, barely older than Draco himself, dark red hair shining in the light from her hallway and clear green eyes Draco would recognise everywhere. Because he had to confront them almost every single day for six years. It was Potter's own eyes that were looking at him from this stranger's face, shining with eerie kindness. And Draco had to take a step back as realization dawned on him.

_Lily Potter._

_It was Lily Potter._

No one spoke for what seemed to be an eternity. Potter had stopped dead in his tracks and stared unblinkingly at his deceased mother, and Severus, Severus for Circe's sake!, was recoiling in on himself, seeming just a few moments from bolt away. Even Draco felt uneasy, shuffling his feet in the awkward silence.

Then, suddenly, Lily Potter launched herself at Severus, cupping his face in his hands and kissing his cheeks, her green eyes gleaming.

“Severus, it’s you. You're here, you’re really here,” she murmured breathlessly against his jaw and Severus's arms went to hug her hard. Draco had to blink at this odd image. His mother had explained to him once that Severus and Lily Potter had been friends back in Hogwarts, but then something happened and they'd never seen each other any more. And now he could see them tightly embraced, trembling with emotion and returning memories, he couldn't prevent himself from wondering. Mother told him they had only been close friends. But could there have been more? He thought back to the dark gleam hidden behind Severus' cold eyes. Was it her? Did Severus love Harry Potter's mother and she had chosen James Potter over him? Draco swallowed hard at this disturbing idea.

But Lily was already disentangling herself from Severus, wiping at her reddened eyes with the back of her hand. She turned and her gaze skated over Draco before settling down on Potter. She gasped, hiding her mouth behind her hand and this time, unleashed tears flowed down her cheeks. “Harry,” she croaked, her voice tight. “You..”

She swayed and had to grasp the frame of her door not to fall down, her eyes never leaving her son. Potter took a tentative step forward, extending his hand, and she immediately pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, sobbing into his neck, her whole little body shivering. Potter had closed his eyes too, holding her like a lifeline, like she would disappear should he let her go.

Finally, Lily lightly pushed back her son, cupping his face in awe. “You're so grown-up now,” she whispered and gently kissed his forehead. “You're handsome. I knew you would be.” Then grasping his hand, she pulled him into the house. She tried to call her husband, but her voice broke and she had to swallow and wipe her soaked cheeks with her free hand, before managing to call out.

“James, James. Come down, Harry is back!” She shouted at the bottom of a wooden stair case, not daring to release Potter's hand even for a second. Soft thuds echoed down from upstairs and soon, the unmistakable messy hair of a Potter leaned down from the rail. His hazel eyes widened and he swore under his breath, before rushing downstairs and claiming his son in a tight hug.

“Oh Merlin, Son. You… You're so… It's wonderful,” he stammered and Draco had to step back and look away. Too many emotions were happening here, too much intimacy for a complete outsider like him. Seeing them cry and laugh, exchanging kisses and smiles, made him feel like he was intruding. Potter's bliss was painfully palpable, beaming from him and illuminating the whole room, and Draco's heart broke.

Oh, if all of this could be true.

_But it wasn't._

They were Projections, not real people. Potter's parents had been dead for years, dead by the hand of a madman Draco had once chosen to follow. Guilt clawed at his insides, twisting his stomach and catching his breath. Even if he'd never actually killed anyone, the Dark Mark etched on his left forearm never let him forget the part he had in this. By becoming a Death Eater, of his free will or not, he became an accomplice of The Dark Lord's slaughters, an accomplice of the Potters' murders.

And now they were finally together, happy and smiling as if nothing ever happened, and Draco had no right to interrupt. Had no right to kill them all a second time by revealing the truth.

 Turning tail, he fled silently towards the nearest room.

##

There he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes in the silence, stilling the mad pounding of his heart. Why had Potter's pain and happiness moved him so much? Why was it that suddenly all he wanted was to just close the door behind him and leave them here, forever together, no matter where truth or reality really laid? Severus had said a dream so deep could last years and Draco suddenly very much wished Potter would never wake up.

If he let him stay here, maybe Draco could fix a little bit of the bloody mess what was Potter's past. After all, no matter what was true or false, Potter could have what the Dark Lord had wrenched from him when he was only a baby, before he even could remember anything of his parents.

Draco violently shook his head. No, he couldn't afford to lose time dwelling on Potter's feelings. And most of all how come he was suddenly so concerned with how the git felt? The image of scared green eyes leaning over him in the Room of Requirement suddenly flared in his mind, answering his yet rhetorical question. Potter had been afraid for him. Really afraid for him. No pretence had been hidden behind his scared wide eyes.

And after that, Draco, surely possessed by whatever curse was ruling in this dream, had taken his hand. And Potter had squeezed back, even smiling at Draco.

Well, maybe Potter didn't hate him any more, but- No. They were sharing a dream, so they couldn't allow themselves to jump at each other's throat constantly.

Yes, it was that, Potter had said it himself before. An self-interested and temporary truce. That's what it was really about. It didn't mean anything for Potter.

So well, it didn't mean anything for Draco either.

And if his heart suddenly clenched a little at the same moment, well, it was just a coincidence.

##

A soft hand brushed against his shoulder, startling him and he turned back to two vibrant green eyes. Two green eyes so like Potter's Draco had trouble meeting them. But this wasn't Potter. This wasn't even his mother. This was nothing and he had to hold onto that. So carefully keeping his face blank, he raised an eyebrow.

“I'm sorry, I didn't want to startle you. Mr?”

 “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

She laughed a little, a free crystal clear sound and Draco had to be careful not to let a smile creep upon his lips. Salazar, this woman seemed to have a natural gift for making people comfortable. He would have to stay on his toes around her.

“I thought as much. The hair, you know. Very recognizable.”

A few second passed as she looked pensively at him.

“Are you a friend of Harry's?” she asked finally and Draco felt suddenly drenched with freezing water, the earlier pleasantness of the moment abruptly forgotten.

“No,” he drawled, straightening his spine, his barriers already building up again. “We aren't even in the same House.”

No, they weren't friends. They only shared a common goal for the time of a dream and soon they would take different paths. Temporary truce. He must not forget that.

A dreamy smile curled her lips, but she didn't add anything. She extended a hand towards the door. “Before your arrival, we were taking tea with an old friend. Please, come with us.”

And this was said with so much simplicity and kindness, Draco could only follow her.

##

Entering the small but neat kitchen, Lily gestured for Draco to sit next to Potter at the small wooden table, which seemed to devour half of the room. Next to Potter, was his father, an arm casually around his son's shoulder, his free hand furiously flinging in the air as he was apparently reminiscing over his former Quidditch exploits. A little wrinkled woman was stooped over her tea cup a little away from them, barely listening to James Potter's rambling. And in the corner, was Severus Snape, his closed face opening the second Lily stepped into the room, his dark eyes following even the smallest of her movements as she went to fetch the teapot and poured Draco a cup.

“I believe you already know James, my husband,” she said as she sat next to him, James' hand immediately coming to rest on her thigh. “This is Bathilda Bagshot, our neighbour and a friend for many years. James, Bathilda, this is Draco Malfoy, a classmate of Harry.”

Bagshot nodded slowly, her blank eyes hovering in Draco's direction, but never settling down on him. Draco suppressed a shiver. She seemed already dead, dragged out of her grave and put here, completely lost in the middle of a tea party. She wasn't even touching her cup, her hands lying lifeless on her lap.

Disturbed, Draco turned towards Potter's father, who was studying him thoroughly, eyes narrowed. “A Malfoy, son? Really?” he whined and Draco couldn't tell if he was joking or not. “You could have done so much better.”

Harry immediately choked on his mouthful of tea and Draco carefully put his own cup back on the table, before he embarrassed himself too. Lily scowled at her husband, removing his hand and taking her own sip of tea. “James, come on. Don't be rude,” she scolded him, in a fond familiar manner, one which only came after years accustomed to each other.

Potter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, earning her own scowl from his mother. “What do you mean?”

James opened his mouth to answer, but his wife elbowed him sharply, cutting him off short. “Don't listen to your father,” she answered, smiling. “He's just being silly. Don't feel pushed, Harry, you'll tell us when you think you're ready.”

Potter's eyes widened and Draco didn't feel very at ease himself. He didn't really understand what was going on but he had the strong inclination it wasn't something he was going to like.

James rolled his eyes at his wife. “Yes, yes Lily, I know. But honestly if the boy was a classmate or even just a friend, why would Harry bring him here to meet us?”

Suddenly, Draco was very glad not to have the cup in his hands any more, as he would surely have dropped it in pure shock. Were they really insinuating him and Harry were, what? Boyfriends? The mere thought was blood-curdling really. Only imagining himself hugging and kissing the other boy was…

Err, to tell the truth, it wasn't as disgusting as it should be. The clear image of a naked Potter under the Quidditch showers sprang into his mind, immediately stirring unwanted things in his midsection. Rapidly shutting down this slippery train of thought, Draco focused on Potter, who seemed as stunned as him. Except the git didn't have any manners and was openly gaping at his parents, apparently frozen in place.

Even Severus was obviously holding back a gag, his hand gripping so tightly his cup, his knuckles had turned white. Only Bagshot didn't react, staring down at her cooling tea, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Finally, it was Lily who broke the silence, leaning forwards to stroke Potter's cheek fondly. “As I was saying, we don't want to push you. Take all the time you need. And don't forget we'll always love you, no matter what path you take.”

As if the words had snapped him out of his trance, Draco stood up, scraping his stool on the floor and gaining the attention. “I'm sorry. But where's the loo?”

“Third door on the left in the hallway,” Lily answered kindly, leaning back against her own stool and calmly sipping her tea. Walking as slowly as he could as all he wanted to do was run away, Draco exited through the door.

##

Strolling through the hallway, Draco tried to clear his head and process what just happened. The Potters couldn't be more wrong, they were as far away as possible of being a couple. They hated each other. For years. And Draco was pretty sure Potter wasn't gay.

And most of all, he wasn't interested in Potter. No, he wasn't. He wasn't.

He stopped and pinched his nose, exhaling a long breath. Merlin, who was he kidding? He was attracted to Potter.

 And to tell the absolute truth, it came from long before the dream. From the Quidditch showers, where Draco had realised how tempting another male body could be. And the scrawny git had unbelievably matured over the last few years. Gone was the little undernourished boy from his childhood years. Potter may not have grown so much, still barely higher than Draco's shoulder, but years of Quidditch and battling against the Dark Lord had put a tantalizing layer of muscle on his once frail body. He was healthier, sturdier, where Draco had declined to a mere shadow, emaciated and colourless, consumed by the fear and pain of living under a madman's law for almost a year.

The disturbing feeling of being watched snatched him out of his musings and he turned, eyes scanning the empty corridor and fingers already itching for his wand.

_The living room._

He could sense a presence there, could hear a soft breath in the silence when he strained his ears. He tip-toed forward, silently taking out his wand, ready to strike.

“Hello Blondie!” A cheerful voice greeted him and Draco's eyes immediately narrowed.

“Good evening, Black.”

Sirius Black was casually installed in a deep red cushioned armchair, one foot propped on his knee and a mischievous smile stretching his lips. Draco side-stepped slowly to face him, careful never to show him his back.

“Go away, Black. You're not welcome here,” he drawled, putting up a confidence he didn't really feel. Black only grinned wider.

“You know, Blondie. I'm only here for Harry. He called me after all.”

“You're not his godfather. The real Sirius Black is dead.”

“No need to be rude, boy. It's not my fault if you're a frustrated little poof.”

“What?!” Draco raised his wand, his vision blurring with sudden fury. Black chuckled and settled more into his armchair, his head nonchalantly resting back on his crossed arms.

“You like him, don't you? But he will never look at you that way in the real world, you know. Even if he liked men, he'd still be the hero and you the loathsome Death Eater. Nice tattoo, by the way.”

“Shut up,” Draco hissed between clenched teeth, suddenly painfully aware of the stain on his forearm. Black puffed out a theatrical little breath.

“Poor, poor Blondie,” he cooed. “All alone in this too big bad world. But stay focused, it's Harry we are talking about. If you really fancy him, you surely want him happy, don't you? And where could he be happier than here with his parents, with me? It's all the beauty of a dream, nothing is impossible here, no one is dead forever.”

He let the idea sink for a few seconds before going on.

“All you have to do is forget. Forget this is a dream, forget there is another reality out there. Don't you want to set him free?” His voice dropped to a low purr, tempting and terrifying all at once. “Don't you want to set yourself free? No more Death Eaters here, no more Dark Lord to torture you. No one to reproach you your choices, your Mark? Don't you want that?”

Draco swallowed hard, his hand falling limply to his side, Black's words echoing in his mind. He felt suddenly as if all his energy had been sucked out of him in a few seconds, leaving only behind a bone-deep fatigue and a blank mind.

Perhaps he was right after all? Why did they have to fight and fight again? Why not just give up? It was peaceful here. Potter had his family, Severus, his lost love.

So why rush to go back to the cold reality waiting for them outside?

Up there, no matter if he had helped Potter and his friends, he would always be a Death Eater, forever stained by the Dark Lord himself. Forever the one who made the bad choices, the one to despise and hate, the one to reject.

And this, only if they succeeded. Draco didn't even want to begin to imagine what was waiting for him if the Dark Lord would win.

Even Potter deserved better, he deserved a family, a real one, who would love him for who he really was. Not the Chosen One, thrown into a war way too big for seventeen year-old boys.

Maybe Black was right, maybe it was better to lay down their arms and take the offered hand. Maybe it was time to take the easiest way.

##

A blood-curdling scream burst from the door, scaring the hell out of Draco and spreading gooseflesh along his arms.

What was that? What happened? Was Potter hurt?

Turning on his heel, he made a move to rush towards the kitchen, but the commanding voice of Black stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Stop!”

He glanced behind to see the man standing a few feet away from him, wand out and pointed between his shoulder blades.

“One more step and I kill you.”

Draco swallowed and slowly turned back, hand on his own wand. The grin of the elder man had turned feral, malevolent and Draco couldn't help but be reminded of the Dark Lord himself. How many times had he been in this situation, helpless in front of his torturer, knowing the fate waiting for him and not being able to do anything against it.

_But not this time._

He rolled his wand between his fingers lightly, reassured by its warmth and weight. No, this time, he was armed and he was going to fight back.

“Put down your wand, Blondie.”

Draco's eyes narrowed, his breath short and ragged as if he'd just flown a whole Quidditch match. He could do it. He could outdo Black.

He raised his wand.

Black's grip tightened on his.

And suddenly the floor slipped away under their feet.

##

_2 nd level: Hermione's dream, Hogwarts Castle_

Hermione was twirling her wand nervously between her fingers, listening to the heated discussions from behind the closed door. She had already recognised Flitwick's and Slughorn's voices arguing for the best way to bring down the wards. They had tried a few unsuccessful things before, their irritation slowly building with time.

She swallowed, her wand slipping away from her shaky fingers. Bending down, she immediately reached for it and gripped it more firmly.

_They would attack soon._

“What's happening here?”

At the strong Scottish accent, Hermione's throat was suddenly dry.

  1. She had returned from the dead.



No, Hermione corrected herself, she never died because she was never McGonagall at in the first place.

Biting her lip, she risked a glance behind her. Malfoy was curled on the floor, pointed face twisted in a painful grimace. His blood was drying on his robes and Hermione shuddered at the metal shards shining angrily out of his flank.

He wouldn't survive long…

But then she was suddenly propelled backwards, screaming, arms up to protect her face. It seemed all the Room was shaking with the violence of the shock, metal clattering against metal and wood rasping against stone in a deafening cacophony.

When the silence fell down again, her ears were still ringing and her vision was blurred at the edges. Shaking her head, she hastily gathered herself and stood up, knees wobbly, wand pointed at the still closed door.

_The still closed door._

The wards had held.

She heaved a loud sigh of relief and cast a few charms, letting out a relieved breath at the powerful magic still wound around the thick wood.

But even Snape's work couldn't resist forever the increasing assaults of the Projections.

The voices had dropped to a confused murmur and Hermione could hear footsteps padding away. Frowning, she again took her seat, wand firmly in her hand.

They would undoubtedly come back. It was only a question of time.

Focused solely on the door, she didn't noticed the Dreamer's bodies had rolled away.

##

_3 rd level: Snape's dream, Godric's Hollow_

Draco's head harshly hit the floor and for a while, he saw stars. The house had violently shaken, knocking over the armchairs and spilling the contents of the bookcases in a heterogeneous heap of ripped pages.

Pushing himself up onto his knees, he carefully looked around, squinting to distinguish any shapes in the hovering dust. And then he spotted Black, lying flat against the floor, trapped under a fallen cabinet.

Coughing, Draco clumsily stood up and a sudden burst of pain nearly ripped him apart, knocking all breath out of his lungs. He immediately pressed his hand against his flank, only to find his fingers wet with blood. _Shit._ The wound had reopened.

He glanced back at his side and bit his lip. His robes were sticking at his already wet pullover and gleaming red blotches were beginning to appear here and there on the dark fabric. Salazar, they had to make it quick or he would collapse on his own.

A weak groan caught Draco's attention and he glared back to Black's crushed form. The elder man was looking at him imploringly, scrambling to free himself. “Please,” he rasped, coughing.

Draco's eyes hardened, renewed fury boiling in his stomach, and he raised his wand again.

“You're not Sirius Black,” he spat coldly, before yelling “ _Stupefy_!” The red ray of light hit Black straight in the head and the dark eyes widened in surprise for a second, before going blank, all trace of life washed away. Black’s head fell limply to the floor in a dull thud and Draco shivered, slowly realising what he had just done.

He closed his eyes, his knees wobbly and his breath ragged by sudden panic.

_He didn't just kill a man. It was not Sirius Black. It was nothing._

He tried to reason himself, but it was as if his head was going to explode. Tears of rage and guilt were prickling at the corners of his eyes and he had more and more trouble to just stand up.

But yells and shouts were still booming from the kitchen and Draco exhaled a long breath, slowly regaining control of himself. He didn't have time to panic. He had his wand, he knew his spells. He was a wizard, a powerful wizard from a long lineage of Purebloods. He could do it. _He could do it._

His heart still pounding in his chest, he hurried back to the kitchen.

##

When he reached the small room, he could only gape in shock in front of the nightmarish scene unfolding in front of him.

 Severus was backed against a wall, James Potter's wand sank into his throat. He was silent, but his eyes were so full of hatred, they conveyed much more than any words could. Lily Potter was standing next to her husband, one arm curled protectively around her son.

_Her five-year old looking son._

Harry Potter wasn't seventeen any more. In the comfort of his mother's arms, he had physically regressed to a little child. A harmless little child who was hiding his face in his mother's trousers, his small shoulders shaking with muffled sobs.

And rising menacingly from the empty corpse of Bathilda Bagshot, was a monstrous snake, its dark green scales gleaming under the harsh light of the ceiling lamp. Nagini hissed and flicked her tail, her long head undulating sinuously towards her prey. Towards Potter.

“Stop,” Draco yelled without being able to hold himself back. All the heads turned immediately in his direction and Draco bit his tongue. Too late.

Nagini hissed and clacked her double tongue against her palate, recoiling a little in her rings, her slit eyes eyeing the newcomer.

Taking the surprise opportunity provided by Draco's outburst, Severus violently punched James in the chest, bending him in half. Shouting _Accio_ , he made his discarded wand fly to his hand and immediately pointed it to the still recovering man in front of him. “ _Stupefy,_ ” he drawled, his icy voice laden with so much long-standing hate Draco himself shuddered.

James Potter's eyes had only the time to widen in realization of what had just happened, before he was already falling backwards to the floor, arms flailing lifelessly to his sides. Potter wailed against his mother and Lily's mouth gaped open in disbelieving shock. Holding her son more firmly against her, she brandished her own wand towards Severus.

“How dare you?” she shouted hysterically, green eyes flaring. Severus swallowed and tucked his wand back in his sleeve. He took a step ahead, lifting his hands palms up in an attitude of peace.

Draco's blood chilled in his veins as he recalled with how much longing Severus was looking at the young woman earlier. He loved her. He loved her and thus he couldn't kill her.

_But she wouldn't have any such qualms._

A new red ray of light flew through the room and crashed against a chest. A breathing stopped and a limp body collapsed, its eyes bereft of life. Potter wailed helplessly and scrambled for his mother's clothes, sobbing into her still warm breast.

Lily Potter was dead in front of him. For the second time.

Draco had to grasp for the door frame, his wand still glowing red with the remnants of his spell.

Severus was standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen, his hands still up, as unmoving as a stone statue.

And Nagini charged.

Unwinding her rings, she launched herself towards Potter, fangs bared and ready to sink down into the offered flesh.

“Draco!”

Snape's warning wasn't finished before Draco was already throwing himself at Potter, pulling the child from his mother's body and rolling them both onto the floor. Nagini's jaw closed on nothing and the snake hissed in frustration.

Draco curled up around Potter's little body, safely hiding him into his arms. The child wailed and bucked, but Draco held firm, closing his eyes and focusing solely on the thrashing boy warm against his chest.

Hisses and swearing resonated in the room, followed by the frantic rustle of a fight.

And then, only silence.

##

Potter had stilled in his arms, his ragged breath slowly evening out against Draco's chest. Feeling Potter tucking confidently his head under Draco's chin, Draco heaved a relief sigh and tightened his hold on the little body.

He was protecting Potter. As long as he would be here, nothing would happen to him, he could swear it.

Eyes still closed, he breathed in the wild black curls, revelling in Potter's very scent. And Draco's mind drifted off to an impossible fantasy where he was holding the real seventeen-year old Harry Potter against him. Where he could protect him and yet feel safe in his arms.

“Draco.” Severus sounded so exhausted and disheartened, Draco opened his eyes. His godfather was kneeling where there once was Lily Potter's body, head low and shoulders slumped, seeming so small and lost in the silent room.

“It's over.” His voice broke and he coughed lightly, not daring to meet Draco's eyes. Draco slightly turned his head, careful not to dislodge Potter, and swallowed.

Nagini's body was lying unmoving on the floor, her once glistening scales now smeared by blood. A Basilisk fang was jutting out of one of her eyes, like the victorious sword of the old knights' tales.

Potter winced in his arms and Draco loosened his vice-like grip a little. Stroking the boy's hair, he murmured into his ear. “It's over, Harry. It's over.”

  1. He rolled the word on his tongue, tasting it. It felt weird, forbidden and even a bit arousing, and Draco wondered if he would one day dare to call the real Potter like this.



Potter whined and disentangled himself from Draco, his weight gradually increasing with each backwards movement. Soon a seventeen-year old boy was sitting in Draco's lap, watching him with an unfathomable expression on his face. Draco wanted to move back but Potter reached out and silently tucked a loose blonde strand behind his ear. A slight smile ghosted at the corners of his lips, but his yet so expressive green eyes stayed cold and impassive.

Eventually, Potter stood up, back ramrod straight, so stiff and rigid it seemed anything could shatter him into pieces. He extended a hand to help Draco onto his feet. Draco winced and reached for his side and Potter's hand was immediately on his, steadying him gently.

“We have to go down to the next dream, Draco is bleeding,” he said firmly, his hard eyes never leaving Draco's flank. And the blond felt something warm and pleasant unfurling in his chest at hearing his given name in the mouth of his once sworn enemy.

##

Draco closed his eyes, careful not to lay down on his injured side. He could feel Potter's body next to his, stiff and unmoving. Draco sighed and tried to focus on Malfoy Manor, but his mind kept running back to the other boy. Potter who had been lured into a false comfort, only to be betrayed and almost killed by his own parents. Potter who didn't cry, didn't yell, didn't do anything out of sorts, who just stood eerily still and calm, taking care of Draco as if he was the one who needed help at this moment.

But Draco knew better. All of this act was only a glass mask and behind, Potter was moments away from falling apart. He was running on fumes and soon it wouldn't be enough. Draco shuddered at this disturbing image. If Potter broke down, how could he, his school enemy, the one who bullied him and hated him for the most of his childhood, be the one to help him back onto his feet?

He felt Potter brush against his back as he turned and soon a warm hand came to rest against the small of his back, clutching unconsciously at his robe. Draco smiled, relaxing slightly. Maybe, just maybe it would be okay.

Maybe for once, Draco Malfoy could be the one to save Harry Potter.


	5. Chapter 5

oOo

_ Chapter 5 _

_4 th level: Malfoy's dream, Malfoy Manor_

Draco huffed and tossed around, pushing away the too warm covers. The sudden chill sensation made him shiver and he scrambled to pull them up again to his chin. Burying his head in his pillow, he growled in frustration. Merlin, he felt like he'd been here for ages, relentlessly turning in his too wide bed, desperately trying to catch sleep that kept slipping away from him.

And all the time he had this nagging feeling at the back of his mind. As if something wasn't quite right, something important. But what?

Huffing, he tried to still and lay down silently, eyes tightly closed.

And then he heard it.

A broken sob drifting from the depths of his room.

Instantly Draco opened his eyes and sat up in his bed, squinting to discern something through the darkness. And indeed there was a form, huddled in the corners, slightly darker than the walls surrounding it. It was too big for a House-Elf, but who else, in this Manor crowded by Death Eaters would come seeking refuge in his room?

His eyes never leaving the stooped figure, he patted blindly at his bedside table to find his wand. Whispering a Lumos, he slid off his bed and slinked towards the stranger.

But when the soft light revealed a mop of wild black hair hidden between two raised knees, Draco's breath caught in his throat.

_Potter!_

Suddenly he remembered everything.

That atrocious last dream. The pure happiness beaming on Potter's face. The laughter and the tears of joy of a long lost family finally reunited.

And all of that suddenly wrenched away from him. Once again.

He remembered Potter, so stiff and straight it actually hurt to see him. Potter, who tried so hard not to be affected, who certainly tried to convince himself they were only Projections. Not his parents. Especially not his parents.

Now Potter was here, crying softly in the dead of the night, where no one could see him. All alone.

So Draco did the last thing he ever expected himself to do to the other boy, he kneeled beside him and, opening his arms, pulled him against his chest.

And Potter let him, desperately clutching at Draco's clothes, muffling his sobs in Draco's shoulder. Draco tightened his hold, one of his hands stroking the mussed black hair, the other gently rubbing small circles on the shuddering back.

They stayed for a long time just like that, sitting in the dark bedroom, without exchanging a word. Just Harry crying soundlessly in Draco's arms.

Until finally Harry relaxed, his tight muscles going slack under Draco's hands. He sleepily nuzzled against Draco's chin, inhaling in his scent.

Slowly, carefully, Draco slid a hand under Harry's chin and lifted it up, meeting the red-rimmed green eyes, so full of hurt and still unshed tears. Draco bent his head down, breathing against Harry's lips, bloodied red by the effort to bite back his sobs.

He pressed a tentative little kiss to Harry's lips, immediately moving back, horrified by his own bold actions. But Harry only grabbed his neck and pulled him back into a bruising kiss, forcing his lips open and thrusting his tongue forcefully inside. It was messy, awkward, teeth clacking against teeth, biting on their tongues, Harry continuously pushing Draco to open wider, to relinquish control, to submit to him.

And Draco, who had always been the dominant in the few flings he had had, who always wanted to defeat Potter in all the numerous fights they exchanged, Draco let himself utterly submit to Harry.

Because Harry needed it. Because he had let down his guard, for one moment forgetting the truth and let himself turn into a harmless child at the mercy of the Dark Lord's pet. Because Draco had to save him when he couldn't save himself, had to comfort him when he was crying like a lost child. Because Draco knew Harry felt powerless and vulnerable, and that he had to take control of the last thing he could. Even if it was only a kiss.

So Draco only tightened his grip on Harry, silently showing him his presence, and let his head be angled at Harry's wish, let his pliant mouth be plundered by Harry's relentless tongue. And he revelled in the sensation, in having Harry warm in his arms and his burning-hot tongue against his own.

Reluctantly separating for breath, Harry began to nibble at Draco's jaw, licking a path down towards his neck. Draco unconsciously tilted his head, panting, pulling Harry harder against his chest. And when he felt Harry's cock slide against his own, hard and hot through the layers of their clothes, Draco's eyes rolled in the back of his head.

Fuck it all, fuck the dreams, fuck the mission, fuck Severus and the Dark Lord. All of this could well wait. Because in this moment, he had Harry Potter in his arms, gently sucking on the soft spot where his neck became his shoulder, his blatant arousal grinding against Draco's own. No, honestly Draco couldn't care about anything, except finally being able to take a closer look at the cock he'd only caught a glimpse of in the Quidditch showers.

Harry's hand had sneaked its way under Draco's robes and pull-over, stroking his back, his blunt nails digging here and there into Draco's skin, as if afraid Draco would push back. As if Draco could only think of pushing back. The warm digits grazed the small of his back, hovered on his pointed hips and slowly made his way down towards his groin.

##

Suddenly Draco winced, yelping in pain and Harry stilled, green eyes wide in shock.

“What?” Harry mouthed and Draco could only focus on his moving lips, red and swollen, and so tantalising he had to plunge back to claim them again, the pain already forgotten. But Harry pressed the tip of his finger against Draco's lips, silently stopping him.

“Draco,” he whispered and the simple two syllables sent a spark of pure need straight to his groin. Groaning low, Draco cupped Harry's jaw and tried to resume their kissing, but Harry softly pushed him back again, a hand on his chest.

“Harry,” he whined, a bit too pathetically for his liking. But at this very second, he couldn't give a damn about anything else other than having Harry's lips attached to his body. His cock was pulsing hard in his pants, demanding attention and Draco would burst into flames if Harry didn't touch it. Like right now.

But Harry's eyes were earnest, concerned, and his bruised lips were moving, probably saying something, but Draco couldn't hear anything but the thrumming of his blood in his ear.

“Draco, you're bleeding.”

Draco blinked, slowly processing what Harry had just said. His eyes fell down on Harry's right hand, lifted up, palm out and it was as if he had been drenched by freezing water, all of his previous arousal abruptly washing away. The tips of Harry's fingers were gleaming red in the dim light of his discarded wand. Blood red.

Draco fumbled for his robes, hastily dropping them, and rolled up the hem of his pull-over to bare his flank. He whimpered, shuddering, a lump of uncontrollable fear blocking his breath.

Merlin, they were only in the dream for a few minutes and already his skin was torn up in places, as though pierced by invisible needles, blotches of blood blossoming on his side.

He wouldn't last until the song. He was going to die. _He was going to die._

But Harry's hand slipped into his own, squeezing hard and Draco was able to exhale a long breath, his bulging panic already easing away. He wasn't alone. They weren't alone. As unexpected as it could be, they had each other to help them, to support them, to protect them. They had the right to be weak, to break down, because the other was here to help them up.

They could do it. Together.

His hand securely in Draco's, Harry stood up and helped Draco to his feet. He looked up silently for a long time at Draco's face and apparently found what he searched for, because he cocked his head up and pressed a chaste kiss to Draco's lips.

“We'll manage. We will find the last Horcrux, destroy it and come back safe and sane to reality. I promise you.”

And this time, Draco believed him.

##

They were moving soundlessly through the dark corridors, ears strained for the slightest unusual noise, slowly heading for the Lestranges' rooms. Draco had explained earlier that they were looking for Hufflepuff's cup, in reality safely hidden in the Lestranges' Vault. But as Severus had considered it too difficult to break through the Goblins' defences, they had settled on recreating Malfoy Manor, hoping the cup would appear somewhere. And now Draco thought about it, exchanging the barely tamed creatures hidden in the depths of the Bank against a whole Manor packed with Death Eaters might not have been Severus’ brightest idea.

A dull rumble sounded from far away above their heads, making some distant windows rattle in the silence and Harry, ever the Gryffindor, was immediately at Draco's side, wand out. Draco put a soothing hand on his wrist, pressing just enough to make him lower his arm.

“Calm down,” he whispered. “It's not coming from this dream.”

“Snape's?”

Draco shook his head. “No, up there. Granger's dream, I'd say.”

He took a few steps ahead before realising Harry was no longer following him. Looking behind, he found the other boy staring at the ceiling, squinting. Draco barely refrained himself from rolling his eyes. Honestly, did the idiot really think he could see through two layers of dreams just by looking heavenwards?

“Potter,” he scolded, keeping his voice low and Harry jumped a little, blinking owlishly, as if surprised to find Draco in front of him. He hastily met Draco's side, his gaze lingering on the wooden coffered ceiling.

“Do you think she's in trouble?” He asked so softly Draco had to lean towards him. Apparently emboldened by the sudden proximity, Harry grasped Draco's hand in his own, holding tight, and Draco had to swallow back a stupid little grin.

“Most probably.” At Harry's clouding gaze, he quickly added. “But you know Granger. She could get rid of anything.” Harry's expression mellowed and he rotated Draco's hand in his own, linking their fingers. Draco looked down at their interwoven digits, his blood suddenly rushing south and he had to physically refrain himself from just pushing the coy git against the nearest wall and snogging him senseless.

They had a mission to finish. And only after could they talk of whatever was happening between them.

 _Or you could never talk again and go your separate ways,_ a nagging voice added in the back of his head. _You're ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. It's only happening because he suffered a soul-destroying situation where his own parents tried to give him to Nagini. And now he only clings at you because you're the only real person here. He could have kissed a Flobberworm for what it's worth. Don't forget this is just a dream, Draco. In reality, he's the Hero and you're just the filthy Death Eater he has forgiven. In the end, he will not even glance at you. In the end, you will be little more than a piece of dirt beneath his shoes._

Gritting his teeth, Draco almost crushed the hand still in his own and earned himself a questioning look from Harry. No, from Potter. Right. It was Potter. It was just Potter and nothing else.

He snatched his hand free and sped up his pace, not allowing himself to look back.

##

The door leading to the Lestrange's bedroom squeaked far too loudly in the deafening silence. So far they hadn't met anyone, not even House-Elves, and Draco would have gone mad with the waiting had Har- Potter not been at his side, a silent but solid presence. And silent he was. After Draco had turned him down earlier, he hadn't tried to reach for his hand again. He hadn't even uttered a single word either, always standing a few steps behind Draco, more a body-guard than a companion. But for now, the situation was well enough for Draco's nerve-wracking state. If Potter only brushed against him, he could not be held responsible for anything.

He tip-toed into the dark room, wand casting a dim light on the unmoving pieces of furniture. His heart was pounding madly in his chest, pulsing blood through his veins and he had more and more trouble just standing upright. He was bleeding, he knew it. He could feel it running down his side, soaking his robes, but he didn't dare look, too afraid of what he would find. The only positive point was all his left side had gone numb by now and, aside from a bundle of needles pricking now and then through his skin, he didn't feel any more pain.

“Malfoy.” Potter's hushed voice startled him and Draco rapidly dismissed the sudden pang in his chest at hearing his last name in Potter's mouth again. After all, it was what he wanted, wasn't it? The two of them to stay strangers in the dream to avoid the mortification of Potter rejecting him in reality?

At his side, Potter tilted his chin to his right and Draco immediately redirected his wand to light up the side of the room Potter had indicated. And there it was, Hufflepuff's cup, gleaming gold in the soft light.

“Good,” Potter breathed and took a step ahead, but Draco stopped him, raising his hand.

“Slow down, you idiot.” He looked aside to meet Potter's narrowed eyes and rapidly had to remind himself of his resolution _. Stay away from him. Don't forget it's just a dream._

He tried to disguise his step back into a graceful movement and lifted up his chin as haughtily as he could. Which wasn't simple when the mere vision of the vivid green eyes added to the remnants of their heated kiss were enough to make his cock harden and his whole skin itch to touch Potter's. He tamped it down, arguing inwardly that it was just a healthy response from a seventeen-year old gay boy faced with another good-looking seventeen-year old boy. Who seemed to be receptive to his advances…

Fuck…

Licking his lips, he hastily put his attention back to the deceitfully innocent-looking cup. At his side, he could feel Potter move closer and his heady scent wafted over Draco, painfully twisting his insides. His cock twitched in his pants and Draco had a hard time ignoring it.

But, then, he suddenly realised Potter was waiting for an explanation. Exhaling a long breath, he gathered himself up and drawled.

“You don't remember what happened with all the previous Horcruxes? And on the other hand, we're in a house crammed with Death-Eaters and no one has shown up yet. So it's surely a trap.”

Potter dismissed the thought with a shrug, his hand already holding a Basilisk Fang.

“So what,” he replied, a tingle of anger piercing into his voice. “We're running out of time, you're bleeding to death and the last Horcrux is within our reach. So excuse me if I want to end this quickly. Besides, if it's a trap, we would fall into it anyway.”

And he strode towards the cup, letting an utterly dumbfounded Draco gape behind him.

##

When Draco saw it, it was already too late. A fluttering of clothing, barely darker than the walls, the faint cut-out of a raised wand and the blinding explosion of a spell crashing against Harry's side, sending him flying across the room. And then the soft red glowing fading away, the darkness slowly recovering the unmoving body.

And the laugh, the insane laugh booming through the room, bouncing against the walls in a maddening echo.

Draco rushed towards Harry, heart thudding so hard in his chest it seemed his ribs would crack. He called and called his name, shaking him, insulting him, imploring whatever gods could save him. Tears were blurring Draco’s vision, soaking his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away. Helpless, he pulled Harry tight against his chest, cradling him, softly stroking his neck, as if he was just asleep and could wake up at any moment.

Because it couldn't have really happened. No, it couldn't. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, for Merlin's sake, he was the only one who survived the Killing Curse. He was Harry Bloody Potter, the stupid git who spent all his life playing hide-and-seek with Death and always winning. It couldn't end just like that. Without a fight, without a hope. He couldn't be…

But the once so vivid green eyes were now staring ahead, blank and veiled, the hard chest was no longer moving and, already, Draco could feel his body lightening in his arms, vanishing into the void.

And soon, there wasn't left anything of Harry Potter.

“I got him! I got Harry Potter!” Draco didn't even gratify the mad gloating with a glare. Head low, he was slowly closing his fingers, grasping through thin air for a body who should have been here, here, securely in his arms. He should have protected him. He should have stopped him. He should. He just should.

But he didn't.

“Oh my little baby,” Bellatrix cooed, waltzing through the room in a mock impersonation of a happy dance. She bent down and pinched Draco's cheek, purring into his ear. “You should be happy, you know. The Dark Lord will be so proud of you. Don't forget you're the one who brought Potter to me.”

She kissed him soundly on the cheek and straightened up, picking the cup up and nonchalantly rolled it onto two of her fingers.

“Was this what Potter was looking for?” She caught it between her two hands, peering through the golden badger and her lips twisted into an ugly grimace. “Hufflepuff.” She shuddered. “Our Master never said why he wanted me to keep that piece of junk, but it seemed important.” Her dark eyes gleamed mischievously. “Oh maybe it was that. Maybe it was to lure Harry Potter out and KILL HIM!”

She laughed uproariously, dipping her head backwards, all her slim body shaking with wave after wave of tremendous laughter in the perfect picture of utter insanity. If Draco had still been able to feel fear, he would have certainly cowed away. But not now.

His eyes were dry and hard, his jaw clenched and all his body tense with fury. A kind of fury he'd never experienced before, not the childish white-hot one that caught you at the throat, blurring your vision and dragging you into its unwise frenzy. No, this one was from ice and metal, sharp-edged, stilling instead of warming your blood, making you aware of the tiniest part of your body and magic, waking up your memory to hexes you thought to have forgotten, slowly weighing and discarding them until only the deathlier, the more painful ones were left. Draco had never used an Unforgivable, he never had the force and the darkness of soul to be able to cast them.

But when he lifted his wand up, he knew he could now. He knew he just had to pronounce the words and Bellatrix Lestrange would be writhing on the floor, begging for mercy. For his mercy.

_But it would have betrayed Harry's memory._

The absurd thought suddenly rose from nowhere in his mind, catching him off-guard. Draco felt it slowly make its way through him, leashing his rage, clearing his head, imposing its unwavering presence. Draco exhaled a long breath, his hand loosening on his wand.

Bellatrix tutted at him. “Poor baby boy. You would never do this, wouldn't you? I'm your dear aunt Bella. Do you know how much pain you would cause to Cissy?”

She took a step forward and immediately Draco's resolve strengthened. He couldn't torture her, even in a dream, but nothing forbade him from casting a mere _Stupefy_. Even to the face of his own aunt.

For the third time since they began this nightmarish path down their subconscious, Draco _killed_ someone. But this time, he didn't feel any panic, any disgust, not even any relief. He didn't feel anything, when Bellatrix squealed in surprise and fell down to the floor, hand on her heart. He didn't feel anything when her body slowly vanished away, leaving him alone in the too dark room. Fury had disappeared, leaving him worn-out and empty. It was like being a living Inferi, stripped of all his emotions until there was nothing left behind. Just an immense void in his chest.

Casting a new Lumos, Draco crouched down next to the discarded cup and slowly picked it up. He felt its hidden magic hiss and whistle between his fingers.

“Don't tire yourself out,” he murmured morosely, addressing the cup. “If you don't kill me, I'm going to die of blood loss any way.” He sighed and made a new Fang appear in his hand. Immediately, the cup began to shake restlessly, its magic coiling around Draco's wrist and biting into the numb skin.

Draco looked for a long time at the frantic Horcrux. What was the point now that Harry was dead? Why destroy all the Horcruxes if it meant losing Harry Potter? Before Draco had laughed countless times at the skinny bespectacled boy, whom so many called a hero. At the one who turned him down when he was eleven and who Draco had hated since, never losing an occasion to humiliate him. But then Draco had begun to understand the man behind the tales, the one with his Gryffindorish confidence and stupid smile who promised everything would be okay and made Draco believe him, the one so weak and lost Draco had pressed him tightly against his chest, chasing his pain away. The one too who had kissed Draco and showed him that, maybe, in a distant future, there could be something else other than hate between them.

And now he was dead.

_We'll manage. We will find the last Horcrux, destroy it and come back safe and sane to reality. I promise you._

Potter's words echoed in his mind and Draco gritted his teeth, swallowing back a new rush of tears. Potter had failed, he didn't keep his promise. He had run headfirst into Bellatrix's waiting hands. Stupid, stupid Gryffindor. If he had only listened to Draco just for once…

Exhaling a long breath, Draco raised the fang. He might as well finish the job for what it was worth now.

The tip of the fang sank easily into the gold, fissuring the Badger. Immediately, the cup thrummed and cracked, trembling between Draco's fingers. But Draco didn't throw it away. He pressed the buzzing Horcrux further against his chest and closed his eyes, ready for whatever was waiting for him.

When the last remnants of the explosion finally faded away, one could hear a distant murmur wafted by the wind.

_When all is dark and there's no light. Lost in the deepest star of night. I see you._

##

_Reality: Malfoy Manor_

" _Cadis!_ "

Narcissa heaved a deep breath when she saw Severus stir in his sleep and reported his attention on the Floo, deftly unlocking it. She launched a handful of powder and was relieved when she saw the flames gleaming green. Good, at least they had the connection.

Behind her, she could heard Severus grunt as he sat back, stretching his numb muscles. But no other sounds were heard in the silent room. She turned back, frowning.

Draco hadn't moved. He was still deeply asleep, laying on his side, his slow breathing rhythmically moving his chest. Extending her hand, she stroked his cool cheek. Nothing…. Not even an unconscious shake of his head…

Lifting up her head, she met for a second Severus' concerned eyes. But he rapidly looked away, focusing instead on the fireplace.

“Severus,” she warned and Severus cringed at the threat hidden behind her cold tone.

“I'm sorry,” he said, turning to take Draco's limp body in his arms. His blond head lolled back in the crook of his arms and Narcissa bit her lips. If it wasn't for his steady breathing…

“Severus, what happened?”

“We don't have time, Narcissa. The connection will last only 2 minutes.” He moved forward, but Narcissa stopped him, sinking her long nails into his arm.

“Severus!” she shouted. Forgotten any manners, any decorum, any caution, her only son was in danger and she wasn't about to let it go. A single thought was whirling desperately in her mind.

_Draco was hurt._

He was hurt and she was helpless. She should never have accepted Severus' mad idea, she should never have let her baby enter this craziness. It was like she had suddenly dived into a freezing pond, forcing her to fight for every breath, for every thought.

“Narcissa.” Severus' soothing voice gradually pierced her haze and she blinked at him a few times, slowly regaining her composure. She loosened her grip on his arm, leaving red crescents etched into the flesh, and smoothed her long robes, chin tilted haughtily up. Right. She was Narcissa Malfoy, daughter of Cygnus Black the Third and spouse of Lucius Malfoy the Second. She was dignified and proud of her family, of the house she was born into and the one she had joined with marriage. She didn't wail and cry like a commoner. Pressing a still shaking hand to her chest, she took a long, steadying breath. Her only son needed her. Draco needed her. Today, more than ever before. He needed her cool head and her sharp mind. And if there was a slightest chance to save him, she was going to take it, no matter what it could cost. To her or to anyone who would step in her way.

“He's alive. He's alive and we'll find a way to bring him back.” Severus murmured, softly ushering her into the fireplace. Stepping into the hearth, Narcissa tossed a pinch of Floo powder at her feet, eyes narrowed at the other man.

“I hope so, Severus,” she spat icily. “Or Salazar only knows what I will do to you. _12, Grimmauld Place!_ ”

Left alone, Severus could only shudder, pondering, not for the first time, at how much Narcissa Malfoy could be terrifying whenever her son's life was involved.


	6. Chapter 6

oOo

_ Chapter 6 _

_Reality: 12, Grimmauld Place_

“When is he going to wake up?” Hermione asked again. Molly's shoulders slumped a little more as she reached for Hermione's hand, softly stroking its back.

“It's Harry, dear,” she murmured, her voice warm and soothing, trying to convey as much reassurance as she could. “You know him. He's going to fight, he's going to find a way back.”

Hermione nodded a bit too harshly, tugging her hand free. It had been three days now. Three days since this insane attempt to destroy the Horcruxes and its disastrous results. Three days since they had woken up without Harry. Three long days they had taken turns, watching over him relentlessly. And waiting, waiting for the slightest movement. Waiting helplessly.

Because they couldn't do anything but wait. Harry was still alive, but lost somewhere in the Limbo. Somewhere in the deepest corners of his subconscious where no spells or potions could reach him. And only he could decide to come back.

Hermione gritted her teeth, barely hearing Molly standing up to fetch tea. Why hadn't Harry already come back? What could hold him back down there? She shuddered, remembering Sirius' appearance in the corridor of Hogwarts. Harry never really told them so, but she knew how much he missed him. Harry felt guilty for his death, as he felt guilty for all the others who gave their life for him in this horrible war.

Even more so. Because Harry had believed in a future with his godfather, in a happy life with the last man who had really known his parents. A kind of revenge against his fate. And all of that had been wrenched away from him two years ago. Harry never forgave himself for it, he took the burden of Sirius' death as he took all the others. By clenching his teeth and never allowing himself to break down.

Maybe it was that. Maybe Harry didn't want to return because he was happy down there, because he didn't want to be the Saviour any more. And who was Hermione to reproach him that?

Her gaze drifted away, to the wall and behind it, to the massive staircase she knew was there, leading to the upper floors and to the ever closed door, where behind it Narcissa Malfoy was hiding herself. She too was watching over someone she loved, hoping against hope he would wake up one day.

Hermione swallowed with difficulty around the painful lump in her throat and leaned down, brushing Harry's hair with the tips of her fingers.

“Wake up, Harry. Down there, this is not reality. You have to come back, you have to remember we're here. We're all here for you. We're waiting for you, Harry. Please, come back.”

##

_The Limbo, Harry's dream, 4, Privet Drive_

Draco blinked a few times, his blurred vision gradually clearing. A flash of black hovered to his right and he squinted, recognising…

“Potter!” He sputtered.

Draco scrambled back in the bed, hitting the headboard in his haste. He winced and rubbed at the back of his head, blinking. Potter, because it was unmistakably Potter with his wild black hair and his impossible green eyes, reached out for him, but Draco batted his hand away.

It couldn't be him. It couldn't be really Potter here, with him in this unknown bedroom. Potter was dead! Draco had seen the spell hit him, he had felt Potter disappear in his arms.

He couldn't just be here, gnawing nervously at the tip of his thumb!

But, on the other hand, Draco was dead too.

He had felt the explosion tearing him apart, the pain overwhelming him completely.  And then only the silence. And the darkness.

Draco drew in a sharp breath and Potter fidgeted near to him. Were they in the Limbo? He took in the surroundings, a little room with creamish walls, neat and clean, but devoid of any photos or trinkets, which would suggest someone actually lived here. A spare room at the very most.

“Do we know each other?” Potter's shy question jolted Draco away from his musings and he frowned. Potter was smiling crookedly at him, obviously jittery, but Draco couldn't discern any underlying malice.

He raised a questioning eyebrow, sidling a bit further against the headboard and away from Potter's disconcerting behaviour.

Potter blew a little puff of breath and seemed to gather his confidence. “You called me Potter and…” He licked his lips. “And I think I know you. From somewhere, somehow. But…”

Draco gave him a puzzled look for a few seconds, before clearing his throat and answering as flatly as possible. “Draco Malfoy.”

Potter tilted his head, probably mulling over the name in his mind, his teeth biting thoughtfully in his bottom lip. And if Draco wasn't so thrown-away by the situation, he would probably have found him unbelievably arousing. Finally Potter huffed, his shoulders sagging a bit.

“I'm sorry,” he said lamely. “I can't recall your name. But I do know I know you, for sure.”

Draco was only opening his mouth to answer, when a soft knock was heard at the door and he swallowed instead, remaining silent.

The door opened and the tall figure of Sirius Black appeared on the threshold. Draco gasped in shock, fumbling frantically around for his wand. But his fingers closed around nothing. He whimpered, a sudden surge of panic clamping at his guts.

He was wandless in an unknown place, in front of Black. Black, whom he had killed not so long ago. It just couldn't end well…

Probably feeling his fear, Potter scooted further on the bed, his hand opening as if to reach for him. But he changed his mind, no doubt remembering Draco chasing him away, and instead let his arm drop onto the quilt, nervously toying with the fabric.

“Harry,” Black called, smiling, apparently ignoring the tension in the room. “I'm sure our guest is hungry. Why don't you go downstairs and cook us something?”

Potter frowned, hesitating. But, with a final glance at Draco, he obeyed, standing up and leaving the room. Shortly after, soft footsteps climbed down a staircase. When the sounds became too muffled to be heard, Black nodded and closed the door.

Then he faced Draco again, his smile grimly.

“Well.” He left the word hanging down in the silence for an excruciating time, before adding, "I assume you've understood where you are.” He flung an arm around, embracing the room and by extension the whole house. “ _This_ is the Limbo. Where you have fallen when you died. I bet good old Severus described it as a god-awful place, but I can assure you it's actually quite the contrary. It's a new reality, a space of raw subconscious. Here, you can live a whole new life.” In front of Draco's silence, Black huffed and sat down on the end of the bed. “Look, everything in this universe has been created by Harry. We're in the house where he spent most of his life believing he was just a Muggle. Harry is trying to change his past, you know, to have what he never had. So you have the choice, you can burst in here and tell Harry everything he believes in is wrong or just let him go happily around. I meant what I told you earlier, you don't have to suffer the fate waiting for you in the reality. This world can be your new life.”

Draco pursed his lips, glaring silently at Black for a few seconds. “You tried to kill me,” he spat, eyes narrowed.

Black nodded slowly. “True, but then Harry needed to die in order to arrive in the Limbo and you were in my way. One thing however, I still don't like you and frankly I'd prefer you out of Harry’s life, but he seems to remember you somehow, so I think we have no choice but to get along. Or you can try to find the only way out.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “But, this time, death is real. You don't just wake up.”

Draco's breath hitched and he struggled to keep his face blank. Deep down, he had the nagging feeling that Black was lying, but, on the other hand, Severus never really explained to them what happened down in the Limbo.

And he really didn't want to take the chance.

“So,” Black went on, oblivious to Draco's internal turmoil. “I offer you this. You can stay and even have back your wand, but, in exchange, you never tell Harry this is only a dream. In any case, you have nowhere else to go, so I strongly suggest you make the right choice.”

Draco stayed silent for a long time, looking out of the window at the empty street below. He couldn't trust Black's projection for a Knut, but the man was right. He had nowhere else to go. He had failed in their mission, had fallen into a place he could never leave. Even if he wanted it.

But did he really want it?

After all, Harry, the real Harry, was here. He was remembering him, even as he seemed to have forgotten everything else. Draco’s lips were tingling with the memories of their kiss and he licked them unconsciously. Perhaps this was his chance, perhaps he could wipe his slate clean and start back from scratch. Perhaps now both of them weren't anything more than ordinary teenagers, he could stand a chance with Harry.

When he turned back to Black, he felt strangely relaxed, at peace with himself, as if all the burden he'd carried for the last few years had been lifted away. Black studied his face, a sly smile breaking at his lips.

Draco nodded slowly, his eyes still hard and menacing. “Okay. But if you try anything against me, I'll kill you in a heartbeat. I already did once.”

Black's smile was darker than ever as he answered softly. “Only if you're fast enough.”

##

Soon Draco was finding himself sitting in the middle of a large kitchen, filled with odd buzzing devices. Muggle devices. He sneered at imagining Potter fussing over them like an overgrown House-Elf. Said Potter who was trying, and failing, to study him discreetly, while chewing on his mouthful of potatoes. Black was sitting at the end of the table, looking oddly like a wolf surveying his upcoming meal. He had barely touched his own dish, all the while glaring silently at Draco.

The silence was rapidly becoming overwhelming and Draco was praying for something to speak of. He was squirming in his chair, desperately seeking an excuse to stand up and flee the table. And Black. Above all, flee Black. He had to physically refrain himself from toying with his newly-recovered wand, knowing too well the elder man would interpret it as a threat.

“So…” Harry began, having apparently mustered up enough confidence and this time, Draco couldn't thank him enough for his stupid Gryffindor single-minded determination. The git would have been so ensconced in his thoughts, he wouldn't even have felt the smothering tension wrapping around the room.

“Where do we know each other from?” He flushed in front of Draco's puzzled look and hurried to add. “I mean, I think we met in class, right?”

Draco glanced towards Black who nodded and licked his lips before asking carefully. “You don't remember Hogwarts?”

Harry frowned, obviously taken aback by the question. “Of course, I… I…” His frown deepened as he was obviously struggling for memories. Suddenly, he let out a growl of frustration and took his head in his hands. Black immediately was at his side, gently patting his shoulder.

"It's nothing, Harry. You're just tired and a bit unsettled by Draco's arrival. You should go to sleep, everything will be clearer tomorrow." Harry stayed silent for a while, still hiding behind his hands. Finally he nodded weakly and stood up on wobbly legs, grasping the edge of table to steady himself.

“I will clean. Just go to sleep.”

Harry muttered an almost inaudible thanks, bid a hurried goodbye to Draco and disappeared through the door.

Draco shuddered, realising he was now alone with Black. And apparently he had just said the wrong thing. He made an instinctive move to his wand.

“Don't bother, kid,” Black snarled. “I only gave it back to you because Harry would have found this suspicious, but I'm not a fool. I know you have no chances against me. And this time, there'll be no earthquake to help you.” His eyes gleamed dangerously and Draco's hand hovered for a few seconds over his wand pocket, before settling on the table, at Black's view.

“I told you not to reveal anything to Harry,” Black growled, pinning Draco under his murderous glare, but the boy stamped down his urge to cower back and glared back, jaw tense.

“He doesn't even remember Hogwarts?” Draco retorted angrily.

“He only thinks he's on vacation, waiting for his last year there. He was in Hogwarts before and in a few weeks, he will go back. It's all he needs to know. Don't even try to steer him on this subject again.” He crossed his arms, cocking his head. “I thought we had an accord,” he said slowly, teeth bared.

Draco wondered if Black was this impressive in real life. He'd heard all sorts of stories from his trials to his imprisonment in Azkaban and his spectacular escape a few years ago, but they all seemed so exaggerated and gaudy he never believed half of them. Perhaps he was wrong after all. Perhaps Sirius Black was really a dangerously mad person.

No, it was just Harry's Projection. It was protecting him from the truth as Harry wanted it unconsciously. Harry wanted to be lied to. He had chosen to forget, to lock himself away and if Draco wanted to stay here, he had to get along.

He sighed, looking at his abandoned plate. Maybe it was for the best after all, maybe Hogwarts was too painful to deal with. He heaved a long sigh, trying to push away the sudden rush of memories from the dreadful last year. The gut-wrenching anguish ever coiled in his belly, the nightmares waking him up screaming in the middle of the night and the threats, on his life, on his parents, ever looming over his head. He knew he couldn't make it, however much he had tried and tried, locking himself in the Room of Requirement all day long, working on this bloody Vanishing Cabinet until his hands went numb. Salazar, how much he wanted that this year never happened…

But there were good times too. He remembered fondly of the long nights sprawled on the couch in the Slytherin Common Room with Pansy and Blaise, chatting and laughing as the carefree teenagers they were. Of these lazy week-ends spent laying in the grass behind the castle, enjoying the spring sun and the return of the good weather. Of the pleasure and excitement of the Quidditch Matches, when he was chasing after the elusive Snitch. Of all of the little things which have been his life before. He would have to forget them, all of them. He would have to forget his friends and his family. He would have to forget Mother.

He would have to shrink himself to this narrow world, to this house and this small village. Because he was in Harry's head and not in reality any more.

He felt Black move in the kitchen, floating the dishes into the sink and cleaning the table, effectively dismissing him. Draco stood up and mumbled. “I'm going to my room.” and left without a glance backwards.

There was no answer.

##

A few days had passed and Draco had begun to get used to this odd new life. Using the powers of the dream, he had managed to summon an entire bookcase into his bedroom, and spent most of his time there, reading and daydreaming. Often Harry would come to chat or play games. Sometimes the prat even managed to drag Draco outside and then, the two of them went strolling through the neighbourhood clad in jeans and shirts, Draco ever whining about the Muggle clothes while secretly enjoying the unimpeded view of Harry's arse.

Harry, who had taken him up as a friend without ever asking for the truth, without ever raising the subject of Hogwarts or their common past again. He seemed perfectly comfortable with Draco, easy and playful as if they never had been enemies.

Because in this world, they never had. Whatever Harry believed of their relationship, he acted as though they were old friends. At first, this casualness had disturbed Draco, but he soon relaxed, smoothly falling into their new familiarity. He especially enjoyed the casual brushes of Harry’s hand against his arm or the way he would lean against him each time he was particularly taken with a game of Exploding Snap. All these little gestures, even as unconscious as they were, went straight to Draco’s groin, dazing his mind and hardening his cock. Each time he had to physically refrain himself from kissing Harry right on the spot, to remind himself he had absolutely no idea what was going on in the brunette’s brain and, first of all, that his chaperone was never far away.

Because Black was always there, hovering over him or eyeing him from a distance, like a hound ready to jump at his throat at the first faux pas, and only Harry's presence effectively kept him at bay.

But all in all it was a plain, leisurely life and Draco surprised himself by enjoying it. Sometimes he caught himself thinking back to his past, to the truth hidden beyond the dream, but now it strangely felt like something else's life, alien and blurry. Little by little, the dream was becoming his reality and strangely, it didn't scare him as much as it should have. Not with Harry's smile, warm and casual next to him.

##

One night, Draco was reading on his bed, when the door creaked open and a familiar mop of black hair poked out.

“Hey!” Harry chirped, sauntering to the end of the bed. “What are you reading?”

“ _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms;_ it’s about ancient runes. Very interesting,” Draco answered flatly, smirking when Harry scrunched up his nose. He nodded, closed his book and put it aside on the bedside table. Noticing Harry's fidgeting, relentlessly folding and unfolding his hands before he eventually decided to bite at his already gnawed thumbnail, Draco arched a questioning eyebrow. What was happening? Was there a problem?

Draco replayed their day in his head, frowning. It was true Harry had been agitated today, avoiding Draco's presence up to going for a walk around. To tell the truth such behaviour after days of casualness between them had hurt, but Draco had preferred not to dwell on this and let the confusing boy alone.

But now Harry was here, in his bedroom, looking everywhere but at Draco and the fear rushed back in full force. Maybe Harry knew the truth, maybe he had remembered how much they used to hate each other, maybe he was preparing himself to kick Draco out of his life.

Draco's throat was dry and he had more and more trouble trying to breathe. No, he didn't want that. He didn't want Harry to look at him as if he was a pestering fly any more. He wanted the friendship, the easy smiles and the soft brushes of Harry's hand against him. He wanted the hope to find the courage to take a leap of faith and kiss him one day. He wanted all of this and his stupid heart had foolishly believed it was true.

And now Harry was going to throw him out.

Draco inhaled a deep breath and schooled his features. If it was what Harry wanted, he would not give him the satisfaction to know how much he was hurt. But Harry finally looked up. And there was so much confusion and uncertainty in the green eyes, Draco's resolution crumbled to pieces and he had to refrain himself from taking Harry immediately in his arms and kissing him better.

“Draco,” Harry began tentatively, searching for his words. He sighed and focused instead on the old wooden wardrobe in the corner of Draco’s bedroom. “I have something to tell you.”

That was it, he was going to tell him. If Draco had been able to move, he would have run out of his dreadful room. But he was riveted to his spot, forced to look, forced to hear...

Harry passed a hand through his hair, leaving it more tousled if it was ever possible.

“It's stupid, honestly, and you are certainly going to laugh, but... I have dreams. Dreams of you,” he paused, biting the inside of his cheek, still stubbornly addressing the piece of furniture.

“Even before you came, I was dreaming of you. I didn't know your name but when I saw you that morning, unconscious on the pavement, I recognised you. You were the blond boy from my dreams. And I had to take care of you.” He shook his head. “Sirius always told me it was just dreams, but I knew you were real. I just knew.”

“And after the dreams only became more real, almost like memories. Which is utterly ridiculous because I don't even remember meeting you. Sirius said Hogwarts cast a spell on its students to prevent them to remember when they are in the Muggle world. Statute of secrecy and all that shit...”

He turned back to Draco, his features unfathomable, but this time his eyes were firm and determined.

“And last night, I had a new dream, a very disturbing dream, about you.”

Draco felt like he had stopped breathing, all the air in the room suddenly vanishing as he was pinned under Harry's fierce gaze. Slowly his fingers closed around his wand. If Harry wanted to hex him, he was sure as hell going to defend himself.

A few seconds ticked by, stretched like eternities, as they held each other's eyes, not daring to speak, not daring to move.

And then, Harry leaned down and kissed Draco.

Draco gasped in surprise and Harry profited from his suddenly parted lips and slid his tongue inside, brushing against Draco's in a blissful stroke. But suddenly, too suddenly, it pulled back and Harry was already straightening up, as if afraid to have made a mistake. But Draco only clutched tighter at him, pulling him back against his chest, all the while tracing Harry’s lips with his tongue, begging for entrance.

Their kiss was slow and unhurried and so unlike their first, shared in fear and pain in the dreadful dream of Malfoy Manor. They took their time, exploring each other's mouths tentatively, tenderly, mapping the edges and the planes of their bodies with their roaming hands and revelling at each moan and whimper coaxed from the other.

Soon Draco's cock was throbbing in his pants, aching for the feel of Harry's skin sliding against his own, of seeing his hard cock pressed against his groin. Oh Merlin, he wanted Harry, all of Harry, over him, against him, inside him. He wanted to feel his cock rubbing over that delicious spot hidden inside of him, he wanted to feel Harry's heat clinging to his own cock. He wanted, gods, he didn't know any more what he wanted.

But it didn't matter because Harry was here, moaning and panting as Draco released his mouth to nibble at his jaw. This was real. This was real because they both decided it. And it was the only thing that counted.

Harry whimpered as Draco began to tug at his t-shirt and pushed him slightly back. Draco blinked, dazzled, but Harry didn't let go of his grasp around the blond. His pupils were so wide Draco could only see a ring of green surrounding the black and he smiled despite himself, exhilarated to be the one to cause this to Harry Potter.

Harry smiled and leaned down for a chaste kiss but he pulled back before Draco could deepen it. “I was so afraid,” he whispered, his voice husk by arousal. “I dreamt of us kissing last night. I was alone in the dark but you came and took me in your arms and you kissed me. And you chased the fear away. I know it sounds soppy and ridiculous, but I couldn't stop thinking about it all day long.” He laughed a little, his eyes twinkling. “And then I chose to be a Gryffindor and try my luck. But I was terrified you'd push me back.”

Draco could only smile, his throat too constricted to speak. Harry was remembering their first kiss. He was remembering it even if he had decided to forget everything else. So maybe Draco really meant something, really counted for him. Maybe their first kiss wasn’t a mistake after all.

Harry gently stroked his cheek, sending a renewed spark of desire towards Draco's still hard cock.

“Why didn't you tell me anything? Why didn’t you tell me we were together?”

“We’re not.” Draco blurted and immediately regretted it when he saw Harry’s face fall.

Feeling the other boy moving away once again, Draco hastily grabbed his wrist, stammering. “B-But we could… We might… If you want.”

Harry lit up instantly, all worry vanished. “I’d love to.” He murmured, his grin so wide it had to hurt.

They kissed again for a long time, until slow had become heated and impatient and they were rutting hungrily against each other. Draco had managed to divest Harry of his shirt and his blunt nails were pressing against the hard flesh, revelling in his warmth, his solidity. It felt real. It was real.

“Want you… So much.” Harry growled in Draco’s ear, his clumsy hand gripping Draco’s cock through the fabric. Hard. Draco yelped and pushed back a little.

He tried to even his breath, to gather his mind. This was really happening. He was going to have sex with Harry Potter. _Oh Merlin._

“Clothes off,” he managed hoarsely, removing his own shirt and fumbling at his jeans. He paused, thumbs in his pants and frowned. Harry hadn’t moved at all, he was staring, mesmerized at the tented fabric. His Adam apple bobbed as he swallowed audibly.

“Have you…,” he asked tentatively. “Have you done it before?”

“Yes,” Draco drawled. Potter squirmed, obviously nervous.

“I...” He hesitated, blush creeping at his cheeks and neck. “I don’t remember if I have… But I surely must have.” He nodded harshly, draping himself in his masculine pride.

Draco’s frown deepened, effectively remembering Harry had had a girlfriend back in Hogwarts. The Weaselette. The mere thought of that redheaded monstrosity laying a hand on Harry caused something to growl, deep down in his guts, and Draco had to forcefully remind himself that Harry was remembering him, not her.

He smiled gently at the other boy, recalling how it had felt during his first time. An odd mixture of bold desire and apprehension over what was going on. He kissed Harry lightly, lingering against the warm lips, but then retreated back and leaned aside to retrieve his wand. At the corner of his eye, he saw Harry follow the movement of his arse and bit back a cocky smirk. When he sat back, Harry’s gaze immediately snatched up to his face, his cheeks reddening even more if it was possible.

Draco conjured a bottle of lube, before discarding his now cumbersome wand at the bottom of the bed. “Do you know how sex between men works?” He asked, toying with the vial.

Harry licked his lips, embarrassed. “I've heard stories.”

Draco nodded. “Okay, I’ll bottom then. It will be simpler this way.”

“But,” he smirked, leering at Harry’s crotch, still unacceptably covered in jeans. “You’ll have to remove these first. I want to see all of you.”

Harry froze for a second, before gathering his Gryffindor courage back. Swelling out his chest in defiance, he unbuckled his belt, before pulling off his jeans and his pants. Draco’s breath caught in his throat and he absent-mindedly licked his lips at the luscious sight.

Harry’s cock was jutting from a bed of black curls almost as tousled and rough as his hair. Thick and hard and so so inviting Draco just couldn’t wait to have it inside him. A few drops of precome were glistening at the tip and Draco had to physically hold himself back from not just bending down and licking it clean.

Instead, he settled on making a show of removing his pants, revelling in the soft whimpers coming from the other boy. Harry seemed unable to detach his gaze from Draco’s cock, as though mesmerized, and Draco’s heart fluttered a little at this thought.

When both of them were naked, Draco pressed the lube into Harry’s shaking hand and pulled up his legs against his torso, his head thrown back in his pillow, wriggling his arse for the other boy’s view.

There was no movement for a while, and Draco thought for an alarming second Harry had changed his mind. But he heard the distinct pop of the cap opening and then slick fingers were patting at his entrance, before one of them slid inside.

Draco’s breath hitched and he closed his eyes, willing away the immediate burning pain, knowing how good it will feel after. Harry’s hesitant poking inside him was growing more and more uncomfortable and Draco wondered for a second if he shouldn’t have been the one to do this to him. But then, Harry’s digit grazed his prostate and Draco jerked, whimpering.

Harry stilled suddenly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.. No.. It’s perfect. Just there, Harry. Just there,” Draco rasped, concentrating on the waves of pleasure crashing over him as Harry’s finger continued to prod at that very spot.

Frowning in concentration, Harry applied himself to relentlessly jabbing at his prostate, fucking Draco first with one and then two fingers. And soon, Draco’s breath was coming in short puffs, his body writhing relentlessly on the bed.

“F-Fuck, Harry, Fuck! I want your cock! Now!” He cried, eyes tightly shut. God, he was so close to coming right now and it was just Harry’s fingers. When it would be his cock… Draco shuddered in anticipation and turned over on the bed, burying his head into the cushions.

He heard Harry moving behind him but he didn’t dare to look up. Just seeing his cock would send him over the edge. He was so close he could barely resist the urge to touch himself.

And then, he felt it. The blunt head of a cock pressing at his entrance, warm and solid, stretching him wide, filling him as only another man could. He whimpered, pleasure pooling low in his belly, knowing it wasn’t any man who was doing this to him. It was Harry Potter who was fucking him. Him and no one else.

But Harry was steadily pushing harder and it was beginning to be painful.

“Stop. Stop,” He rasped, half-sobbing in his heated daze. Harry paused and exhaled a long breath, barely keeping himself from thrusting deep. He could feel it in the way Harry’s hands were gripping his hips, so hard it would undoubtedly leave bruises. “God, Draco. You feel… You’re so… Tight,” Harry managed hoarsely, his teeth clenched with the effort of holding himself back.

Draco managed to catch his ragged breath, pearls of sweat breaking out on his front. That would do. It would have to do, because he couldn’t wait any longer. “Go, please. Go,” he begged.

Harry thrust and Draco’s world shattered.

The first brushes of the cock inside him were uncertain at first, Harry not daring to be too brutal, but soon they grew bolder and deeper, beginning to pound into Draco in earnest, fucking with all their Gryffindor determination. Draco could only writhe and moan breathlessly, arching into each thrust of Harry, desperately seeking for the right angle, for the one which would definitely tear him apart, dissolving the remaining pain in a heated haze of pleasure.

Soon he was boiling, white-hot tongues of fire rushing through his veins, sweat dripping from his fringe, from his back, his whole body reduced to a shuddering whimpering wreck. It seemed all his world had narrowed to his crotch, to Harry’s cock ramming mercilessly inside him, making him scream each time it brushed against his prostate, and to his own cock throbbing and leaking, aching to be touched, aching to end this blissful torture with a mind-blowing orgasm.

Trembling, Draco took himself in hand and tugged once, two times. And it was all he needed. He came, howling Harry’s name, hot spurts of come coating his hand, his stomach, staining his sheets and pillows as he thrashed on the bed, clenching hard around the thrusting cock still inside him. It seemed to trigger Harry’s own release, because a few seconds later, the other boy was growling low in his throat, all his body tensing as he spilled himself into Draco’s still fluttering hole.

Draco closed his eyes, basking in the afterglow of the orgasm, Harry’s warm weight on top of him, soothing proof of what they just done. It had been messy, awkward and all too short, but undeniably, for some unfathomable reason Draco wasn’t ready to process, it had been the best of his shags.

He tentatively stretched his arms, enjoying of the soreness of his muscles. Gently pushing Harry to the side, he curled up against the other boy, nuzzling into his impossible black hair, enjoying the scent of sweat and sex. And this other flavour, warm and spicy, almost hidden behind everything else, the very scent of the other man. Draco smiled as strong arms closed around him and a sleepy mouth pressed a kiss to his cheek. His eyes closed and he snuggled closer, drifting into a blessed sleep.

##

Harry opened his eyes and squinted into the dim light of the moon. Turning aside, he glanced up at his Muggle alarm clock and sighed silently. _2.31_ … He leaned back into his pillow, trying half-heartedly to fall asleep again. At his side, Draco grunted in his sleep and turned back, gripping his pillow with wayward determination as though the poor piece of fabric was going to run away.

Harry smiled and lightly stroked the silk blond hair, careful not to wake him. Two days after their first time, Harry had returned to Draco’s bedroom for a second round. And then he went back again the day after. And the day after that. Barely a few weeks later, they were sharing the same room.

Sirius had reluctantly accepted their new relationship, arguing that, at only seventeen, Harry was way too young to have a proper relationship, but Harry had just dismissed his godfather with a flick of his hand and a few well-chosen words. He was happy with Draco and, as much as he loved Sirius, he wasn’t going to let him split them apart.

Besides, Sirius had never liked Draco. He was constantly glaring at him, watching him warily as though he was little else than a deceiver, ever up to something. He was trying to stop Harry from simply approaching him, appearing out of nowhere to drag him away for some suddenly important tasks to do. The only times Harry had confronted him on the reasons of his dislike for the blond, Sirius had only mumbled: “I don’t like him. I’m sure he’s not as innocent as you think. Believe me, I feel these things.”

Harry huffed and slid carefully out of the bed. No need to dwell on his godfather’s oddness at this time of the night. He was going to fetch himself a glass of water and go back to sleep.

As he was strolling through the silent corridors, his mind was relentlessly whirling back to Sirius. Sirius who had sworn him all his dreams of the blond boy were just fantasies, fragments of his imagination. Then Draco had appeared in the flesh, alive and warm in his arms.

And that wasn’t all. There was the inexplicable void in his memory, all images of his life before this summer blurry or even utterly banished. Before Draco, he hadn’t thought much of it, living in the instant, vaguely conscious of Hogwarts’ term approaching, but never really caring. And now, he was realizing just how much Sirius’s explanations were flimsy. Why Hogwarts would Obliviate all its students just because they lived in Muggle territory. It was stupid really. And these other dreams he sometimes had, those of a redheaded boy and a bushy-haired girl smiling kindly at him. He never spoke about them to anyone, not even to Draco, because he always changed the subject when Harry wanted to speak of his dreams. But he knew they were important to him, he knew it as much as he knew Draco was real. There were some intangible but powerful threads between them, the kind one only weaves after suffering together against the same evil. He couldn’t fathom their names, but he felt he loved them in his very bones and he couldn’t help but wonder where they were, what they were doing, why they didn’t try to contact him after all this time.

##

Climbing down the wooden stairs, Harry let his hand brush against the polished banister. This house… This house had always disturbed him, projecting such an entangled mix of feelings in his heart. He knew he had lived all his childhood between these walls, but it never really felt like home. There were these nagging remnants of fear and shame and these blurry images of a family who once lived here. An ill-matched couple with an extravagantly long-necked woman and a beefy man as big as his wife was thin, and their obese son, so fat he looked more like a pig than a little boy. Sometimes visions seeped into his mind when he lingered for too much time alone in the house, of the woman scowling at him like he was nothing more than a loathsome cockroach or the distorted face of the boy jeering and laughing at him, his pudgy face twisted into an ugly sneer. But he couldn’t seem to remember much more, to know where they had gone, why he was living here with Sirius as though the house had always belonged to them. Before, he didn’t know and didn’t care, applying himself to erasing the unsettling memories and to write new, much happier ones with his godfather, trying to just act like they never existed, like there always had been only Sirius and he.

And until now, he had quite managed.

But now there was Draco. Draco who should only have been a dream and was now a living man, warm and solid in his life and in his bed. And Harry trusted Sirius less and less. He was beginning to study more attentively everything he had always assumed and realising there were so many obvious holes and contradictions, only an idiot could have believed one word of it. Sirius was lying. He was disguising the truth, locking Harry in a superficial bubble of carefree happiness, ready to explode should he only scrape its fragile surface.

##

Deep in his thoughts, Harry realized he had gone down the entire stairs only when his bare feet touched the freezing tiled floor, making him shudder a little. He swiftly turned to his left, intending to stop his nocturnal speculations by drinking his bloody glass of water and going back to his bed, right now deliciously warmed up by Draco’s body.

But something caught his eye and he paused, frowning.

_The cupboard under the stairs._

Sirius had once declared they had good enough storage and had since kept it locked, supposedly to prevent the dust from clustering in it. Before, Harry had accepted it without discussing it, little inclined to take an interest in an old cupboard full of spiders. But now…

He warily approached the little wooden door and, taking out his wand, murmured a quiet _Alohomora._ A soft creak resonated in the air, weighed down by the oppressing silence. Harry sneaked a tentative hand between the frame and the door, pushing it gradually open. Casting a Lumos, he peeked his head into the cupboard and exhaled a long breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

Nothing but dust and spider webs.

Honestly what did he expect? A treasure? A decaying body hidden there years ago by Sirius? He was stupid and tired and should go back to bed before Draco noticed his absence. Retreating back, he began to close the door, scoffing at his silly behaviour.

And then he noticed it. A small scroll absently discarded on the top of a dirty cardboard box. Usually Harry wouldn’t even have seen it, but there was something odd in the yellowish paper, rumpled and torn up all apart. Harry tried to pick up for it, but he had barely brushed the parchment when he jumped back, his hand burned.

The scroll hissed and twisted, before setting itself aflame. Harry watched, mesmerised, as the parchment slowly burned down to ashes. He was left blinking owlishly in the darkness, mindlessly rubbing at his abused hand.

Time stretched, hanging in silence for what felt like eternities. And then, suddenly, a myriad of images crashed over Harry’s mind, sending him to his knees. A silver-bearded man smiling at him above half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes twinkling with mischievousness. A giant with a shaggy black beard beaming down at the awful-looking beast he was holding as if it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The redheaded boy of his dreams, clad in leather gear, cheering and roaring in delight from the top of his broom. The bushy-haired girl scowling at him across the wooden table of a library, her face almost completely hidden behind heaps of precariously stacked-up books. And… And…

A ragged scream tore up the silence and Harry belatedly realised it was his own. He was curled up on the floor, his hands pressed against his temples, as if it could chase away the unbearable memories. His head was pounding, his whole body was shaking uncontrollably. He was feeling sick, bile already burning at the back of his throat.

But then, strong arms encircled from behind, pulling him flush against a warm chest, and Harry sighed, slowly relaxing in the soothing embrace. He swallowed hard, pushing back the upcoming tears.

“Shhh, Harry… Calm down. Calm down, please,” a deep voice whispered in his ear and Harry’s eyes widened in shock when he realised to whom it belonged.

_Sirius Black!_

But Sirius was dead. He had been killed in front of his eyes, he remembered it now. He had been killed by the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange.

The very hand which had killed him later.

_In the dream._

Harry’s breath stopped and he froze in Sirius’ arms. The dream. The spell. They had tried to destroy the Horcruxes directly inside Voldemort’s mind.

But they had failed. They were dead, they had fallen into the Limbo. And Harry had forgotten. He had let his subconscious shut him in this masquerade, locking away the truth. Locking away Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys and all the others, his friends, his family, his world.

“Harry?” Sirius asked worryingly, jolting Harry away from his stupor. Swiftly elbowing the man in the ribs, Harry freed himself and turned around, wand drawn. Sirius gaped at him in surprise for a second, then he sighed dolefully.

“So you know, right?” He asked, looking as small and miserable than a kicked puppy. “I did nothing you didn’t want. I offered you the possibility to change your past, to definitely forget the monsters who abused you in your childhood. To let you be free and happy for once in your life. Because you were. You were happy, weren’t you?”

And he was, he really was as long as he didn’t question the truth. But now, that wasn’t enough any more. Now he felt trapped, squeezed in a too small cage with no room to breathe. He wanted to scream, to hit, to break down in tears. But he was just standing there, frozen, in front of the ghost of a man he had loved so much, and who had lied to him for weeks, for months, for so long he couldn’t remember.

“Sirius is dead. And I miss him, I miss him more I thought it possible. Because he’s dead because of me. Because I’m the so-called _Chosen One_ and people have to sacrifice themselves for me. And I’d give anything I have for him to be here. To be you.

“But you’re not him. You’re an illusion, a mere shade of the real Sirius.”

Tears were now flowing freely along his cheeks, but he made no move to stop them. His voice was shaking and he had to try several times, before managing to croak.

“I have to let you go. I have to accept that you’re dead and that I can’t do anything about it. I can’t resuscitate the dead, I can’t make you come back, Sirius. No matter how much I want it.”

Sirius opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came. He swallowed and took a shaky step back, head low.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured and it was the final blow. Sirius wiped at his shining eyes, and nodded, a weak smile stretching his mouth. Slowly his body morphed into the one of a large black dog and he barked once at Harry, his tail waving. But then, he turned back and bounded away.

Harry stayed behind, sniffing, wiping at his still crying eyes. Sirius was gone. He was gone definitively and somehow, he'd released him of an immense weight, letting him breathe more easily than he had in a long time. Sirius was gone, but it was okay.

All in all, it was okay.

Deep in his thoughts, he didn’t register the soft footsteps padding towards him. But then, a familiar scent wafted over him and he turned aside, looking at Draco.

The image of a blond boy flashed before his eyes, Draco was looking down at him, his lips twisted in an ugly sneer as he was crushing down Harry’s nose under his feet.

_Draco Malfoy._

Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin bully, the coward, the Death-Eater, the brat Harry had hated so much in his childhood.

But also Draco Malfoy, the frightened boy collapsing under burdens too heavy for him. Draco Malfoy, who never could muster up the darkness of soul to kill anyone, no matter what Voldemort tried to coerce him to do.

And Draco Malfoy too, the one who had saved Harry from Nagini, who had protected him when he was unable to do it himself, who always looked at Harry as though he was one of the most precious things in the world.

Draco Malfoy, the friend, the partner.

The lover.

“Did you know?”

Draco didn’t even feign not understanding the question. He flushed and looked away, not daring to meet Harry’s eyes. “Yes,” he mumbled sheepishly.

Harry took a step back, his breath caught in his throat as if Draco had just punched him in the chest. Expecting the answer didn’t make it easier to hear.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry asked, his voice as even as he could, when all he wanted to do was shake Draco silly. How dare he? How dare he lie to him when Harry had trusted him so completely, so utterly?

Draco shrugged, his eyes always resolutely away from Harry’s. “I didn’t want to lose this world. I’m happy here. No Dark Lord, no war, no… No anything… Just you and me.” He turned back lightly, looking at Harry under his fringe. “Why do we have to go back? Why do we have to return to a world where we hate each other? I don’t want it. I don’t want to lose you.”

At that moment, Draco was looking so lost and uncertain, all Harry’s anger immediately crumbled. Admittedly, Draco had deceived him, just like Sirius had. But, after all, hadn’t they only acted like Harry unconsciously wanted them to? Hadn’t he himself wanted to hide here, far away from the unbearable pressure of his world?

And Draco was right, they had been happy together.

But now it was time to leave, because they didn’t belong here. Because it wasn’t reality, just a dream, no matter how sweet it was.

“Draco,” Harry said softly, but determinedly. “We have to go back.”

“Why?” Draco cried. “As soon as we wake up, all your little friends will jump at you and you would forget me immediately. In the real world, I am nothing, just a little piece of scum of a Death Eater, and I have the Dark Mark to remind me for life. And you, you’re a hero, you’re the big Saviour and all that shit. Here, we’re just two teenagers.” He bit his lips and added so low Harry almost didn’t hear it. “Here, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Draco,” Harry whispered, reaching up to the blond, but Draco tried to wriggle away from his grasp. Harry didn’t let go, he pulled the slender boy forcefully against him and closed his arms around his narrow waist, effectively trapping Draco’s hands between their chests. The grey eyes still evaded him, so Harry settled on gently kissing his neck. Draco needed him now, he was needing to be reassured.

“Draco,” Harry repeated, his voice muffled by the soft blond hair he was nuzzling. “I won’t forget you. Look, I don’t know how much time we've spent here, but I began to get to know you. You’re smart, you’re funny, you never miss an occasion to gently mock me. And now I remember, I can tell you you’re courageous.” The body in his arms twitched and Harry let out a soft chuckle.

“Yes, you are. Look, you didn’t hesitate a second to launch yourself in front of Nagini to rescue me, when I couldn’t do anything. And all this time, when we were wandering through the dreams, I could see how much you were terrified. But you stayed with us, you helped us and that took courage, Draco. Because true courage, it’s not throwing yourself fearlessly in front of the danger, it’s carrying on when all you want is to turn tail.” He pressed a resounding kiss to Draco’s shoulder. “Honestly Draco, how could I not love you?”

That was it, he had said it. The words had been boiling in his guts for days now, but he had refrained himself, too afraid of Draco’s reaction. But he just knew it was now or never. Draco had to believe him, he had to believe that Harry wasn’t going to forget him. That Harry could never forget him. Not now. Not any more.

Draco had stilled in his arms, so, slowly, Harry loosened his grip and let him disentangle himself. The other boy stepped back a little, his features perfectly blank in an attitude Harry had learned to associate with fear.

He took a deep breath, his mouth agape, probably trying to force words out. But instead, he just shook his head and stated flatly.

“We can’t go back. There is no kick any more.”

“It’s true, so it leaves us only one way out,” Harry answered earnestly.

Draco shivered. “But Black said…”

Harry’s heart ached a little at the mention of his godfather, but he rapidly got his resolve back. He had let go of Sirius and accept that he was dead, that it was over. Now was not the time to back down.

“Black’s Projection was lying, he was trying to keep us here with it.”

Draco shot him a frightened look. “Do you even realise what you are talking about? You want us to kill ourselves?”

Harry swallowed hard, the panicked words ringing in his ears. Draco was right, what they were going to do was just plain mad. They would kill themselves, hoping against hope it wasn’t for ever.

But they had to do it. They couldn’t just stay here, hidden in their closed world, far away from the painful events of the real one. As much as Harry had loved this carefree life with Draco and Sirius, he couldn’t carry on, he had to go back. They had to go back, to know if this insane attempt had worked, if the Horcruxes had been destroyed and they could finally get rid of Voldemort. He couldn’t abandon them, not now they had fought and suffered so much for him. He had no right to choose himself over them.

It had been a pleasant dream, but it was over now.

He licked his lips and carefully took Draco’s hand in his, noticing how clammy and shaky it was. He squeezed it lightly, hoping to convey as much reassurance as he could in this simple gesture, and revelled when Draco squeezed back, still obviously scared but much calmer now.

“Do you trust me?”, Harry whispered and Draco simply nodded, not taking his eyes away from Harry’s, even for a second. His chest was heaving rapidly, betraying how much he wanted to run away, to dig it all in a dark corner of his mind and to come back to their silly peaceful life. But he was staying here, his hand in Harry’s. He was trusting him with his life and Harry’s heart painfully clenched in his throat.

_Please, let me be right, that I’m not dragging him into a trap._

He gently ushered Draco to the nearby sofa and they sat together, still hand in hand. Silence hung heavily between them, exposing all their fears, all their uncertainties. Their last chance to stop it all.

But Draco slowly, so slowly, bent down and brushed Harry’s lips with his own, gently demanding entrance. Harry opened and soon they were kissing tenderly, with an excruciating care that broke Harry’s heart, their hands softly caressing the other’s body, taking care to map every curve and plane, registering all of what made the other. But this time, there was no desire, no rush. They weren’t going to fall into bed together. It wasn’t a lovers kiss, made to heat blood and arouse desire.

It was a good-bye kiss, the kind one gives on a train platform, when it’s time to part forever. A kiss to print the other one on his skin, in his soul, when one knows it would never be again. It was what Draco was believing, that, even if they didn’t die, Harry would never want him in the harsh light of reality, in front of all the ones who mattered to him.

Carefully breaking the kiss, Harry hugged Draco so tightly he thought for a second it would give them broken ribs, but he didn’t loosen his grip for a bit. He wanted Draco to understand, to believe him when he said that he loved him and that he would keep loving him when they would wake up.

“I promise,” he murmured at Draco’s ear like a secret only made for the two of them. “I promise I will never reject you again.”

He felt Draco smile weakly against his cheek, and then the answer came quietly, the steady voice contradicting the tremors shaking the body in Harry’s arms. “I love you Harry, for much longer than I’m willing to admit it, even to myself.”

Harry closed his eyes, replaying Draco’s words over and over in his head. That was it, the thread he would hang to, the one that would guide him to the surface, to reality. They needed to wake up, to see what was going to happen next. To see if they could really build something with the other.

Focusing only on Draco, on his smell overwhelming his senses, on his heat radiating against his body, Harry lifted up his wand, pointing it at the two of them.

They would live, no matter what. He would never let Draco die. Never again.

“ _Stupefy._ ” He whispered and suddenly, everything went black and empty.

oOo

_ Epilogue _

_Reality: 12, Grimmauld Place; Four days later_

Harry was clumsily shuffling in front of the closed door, his hand relentlessly flying to brush his fringe away from his eyes or to push back glasses which didn’t even have time to fall. He toyed with the idea of just leaving, of being the coward for once. He had the right, no? And then maybe, Hermione would find him moping in his room and forcefully drag him back here?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No. It was time for him to be a Gryffindor, for Merlin’s sake. He had only let this hang for too much time. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted up his hand, hovering for a second over the wood, and knocked.

As expected, no answer came and he carefully pushed the door open, peeking inside. And indeed, Draco was there, alone, huddled in his bed, his emaciated face barely lit by the half-closed window.

Then, as if feeling Harry’s presence, he turned towards the other boy. His grey eyes widened for a split second, but almost instantly, his face turned up to a lofty sneer.

“Go away, Potter,” he spat and immediately turned back.

Harry sighed. Draco wasn’t going to make this any easier for him.

##

Harry had barely opened his eyes than his arms were already full of a teary Hermione, yelling at everyone that he was finally awake. Mere seconds later, the room was crowded with Weasleys cheering and whistling, patting him on the shoulder or dragging him against their chest in a smothering embrace. He had been thoroughly checked, poked, kneaded, plied with questions, so rapidly fired he hadn’t even the time to answer. And when, finally, he had forcefully been sent to his room to rest, his blood was pounding madly in his head and he was feeling so nauseated he had to lie down or he would throw up. He hadn’t even had the time to feel the pillowcase under his head, he was already swept away in a dreamless sleep.

Several hours later, when Harry woke up again, all he found himself able to think of was Draco. Was he back too? Was he alright? Did he remember? The only answers he got were dismissive shrugs and obscure mumbles, especially from the Weasley parts. But, with perseverance, he finally understood the Slytherins had immediately taken possession of the upper floor, the farthest possible from the rest of the Order. And honestly, seeing the remaining animosity gleaming in the Weasley’s eyes, Harry couldn’t blame them. Everyone was acting like they weren’t there, like they even didn’t exist, going up to ignoring them when on the rare occasions they appeared in the kitchen to find something to eat.

Snape was always frowning and lashing out at anyone or anything in particular, more withdrawn than Harry had ever seen him, if such a thing was even possible. Of the little Harry heard, he was preparing with Kingsley and his rebel Aurors, the final plan to take over the Malfoy Manor and get rid of Voldemort for good. But, according to Remus, he was always restless during the meetings, huffing and sneering, rushing away as soon as Kingsley had dismissed them. _As if he couldn’t stand to be with another human being any more_ , Remus had said _._ And Harry always shivered when he thought back to Snape, kneeling over the place where Lily’s body had vanished, so miserable and lost… and beaten… Maybe Remus was right, maybe the dream had finally broken something in his former Potions Professor, like it almost managed to break Harry. Sirius’s image appeared in front of eyes, swelling his heart and Harry rapidly turned his mind onto another subject.

Like Narcissa Malfoy.

If Snape was each day more of a hermit, she tried her best to keep her haughty stance, head high and nose scrunched up in disgust, as if _she_ was the one who had the immense kindness of heart to shelter the Order in her house. Each time Harry saw her, her fancy robes always pristine and her hair neatly tied in a perfect bun, she couldn’t help but notice how much Draco was like her. He too was draping himself in his old dignity, each time he felt inferior. As if the control of their grooming could bring them back a bit of what they lost. And honestly, looking at Narcissa, bending down over the counter of the kitchen, lowered to cook herself because Kreacher had been strictly forbidden to obey any orders of the Slytherins, Harry could only feel sorry for her. She had lost so many things by betraying Voldemort; her house, her wealth, up to her husband and her friends, only to end up here, worryingly waiting for the war to end and the sentence to be delivered. Because even if Kingsley had promised them immunity, no one was naïve enough to believe they could just walk away from the masses’ fury as if nothing ever happened. But, as Narcissa was slowly cooking a piece of meat, frowning as she was whirling her wand, Harry swore to himself he would do all that was possible to save them. Even if it meant using his name and his fame in the most self-disgusting way. He would do it.

For Draco.

Draco, who didn’t ever come down once. Who was hiding alone in his rooms. Probably thinking Harry had chosen his friends, his reputation, over him. Probably believing Harry was so ashamed of what they had done, of all those wonderful weeks they had spent together, he didn’t even want to see him.

And Harry had been a coward too, a stupid recoiling coward who didn’t even dare to climb the stairs up to Draco’s floor, contenting himself to stubbornly wait downstairs, ears strained, searching for footsteps he knew he’d never hear.

One night, he had stood like so many others at the bottom of the stairs, his gaze turned upwards, searching through the ceiling, through the floors between them, for any sign that Draco was there, alive and awake, maybe thinking of him, maybe waiting for him at that very moment. And, as if on cue, he had felt another presence in the room, silent but unmistakably there. He turned back and his eyes widened when he recognized Narcissa Malfoy. She was looking down her nose at him, her thin eyebrows furrowed in deep thinking. She cocked her head, her gaze scornfully raking over Harry’s body, and greeted him dryly. She never had addressed him before.

“Mr. Potter.”

In front of Harry’s shocked silence, she snorted haughtily and went on.

“I don’t know what happened between my son and you in the Limbo and honestly, I don’t wish to. But the fact is Draco hasn’t been the same since his awakening. He stays all day prostrated in his bed, barely speaking, even to me.” She straightened up all of her height, glaring down at Harry. “So I ask you to come to his room and help him. After all, you’re the only one who has always known how to provoke a reaction in him.” And really it was more an order than a request.

Whereupon, she bypassed Harry and climbed up the stairs without a glance backwards.

That same night, Harry went to Ron and Hermione and told them everything about Draco.

##

After being relentlessly nagged into submission by Hermione and threatened to be dragged by force to his room, Harry had finally mustered up his courage. And now, he was here, facing Draco’s taut back and feeling utterly helpless.

When the silence became too awkward to be taken any more, Harry licked his lips and blurted out the first words that came to his mind.

“I spoke to Ron and Hermione today.”

His only answer was a light shiver raking the back ever so stubbornly turned towards him. Harry sighed and carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. It was so disturbing really, how they felt now like complete strangers when they had been so close before, when they had shared so much. But it had only been in the dream, where everything had been so much simpler. And now they were in reality, forced to deal with their past, with the outside world, with all that estranged them.

“Ron was really shocked, you know. I don’t think he’s going to even look at me for the next few days, never mind speaking with me. But he’ll come around. He always comes around.” Harry smiled a little, thinking back to all the rows they had shared, sometimes furious with the other for days, but always, always coming back at the end. “Hermione didn’t even have the decency to look surprised. She said she'd seen it coming for years. I don’t know if that’s true or if she just didn’t want to lose face, but she took it fairly well really.” He sighed, fighting the irrepressible desire to gnaw nervously at his thumb. “It’s because of her I’m here now. I was too afraid, you know. It’s stupid, but I had no idea how you were going to greet me, if we would have been become enemies again. If you wanted to forget all that happened between us.”

As Draco stayed fiercely silent, Harry reached up tentatively, brushing over his shoulder. He felt Draco tense and stilled, waiting for the other boy to accept the light touch. But when Draco relaxed slightly under his hand, Harry, in a surge of Gryffindorish boldness, pulled him flush against his chest. Draco opened his mouth to protest, but finally decided otherwise and leaned down, his head tucked under Harry’s chin. Harry hugged him tightly, nuzzling in the soft hair, marvelling. Draco was here, warm and alive in his arms, and this felt wonderful.

How could he have lived without this? How could he even have hesitated to run to the blond when he was only feeling comfortable when Draco was near him?

They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the silence and the contact of the other, Harry slowly stroking Draco’s back.

“It was just a dream, Harry. It wasn’t real.”

Harry loosened his grip and lightly kissed Draco’s forehead but the grey eyes fled away from his, staring stubbornly ahead instead. “It was. Our feelings were real, my feelings were real. It was the best weeks of my life, Draco. Just you and me and nothing else.”

“That’s what I said. You didn’t know it was me, you didn’t know that you hate me.”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Draco was clinging to his old arguments, too afraid to see otherwise, to take this leap of faith.

“And now I know. And I still love you. Maybe I love you more now I remember how far we've come. You weren’t paying a role down there, you were being you. Draco Malfoy, sometimes so insupportable I want to slap your fucking smirk off of your face and sometimes so sexy and hot I can barely stop myself from fucking you right on the spot. The Limbo only gave us a chance to come back from the start. Not to be crushed by our common past and to be able to know each other without prejudices. And it worked. We worked.”

A slow smirk stretched Draco’s lips and he looked up, finally meeting Harry’s eyes, a small glimmer flickering in the grey irises.

“I bet _that_ was Granger’s analysis.”

Harry blushed slightly, grinning against his own will. That was it, this gentle banter between them, bereft of any malice they could have thrown at each other before. That was what they were, what he loved.

But suddenly Draco’s eyes went back to their icy seriousness and he whispered slowly, earnestly, his own arms encircling Harry’s neck in a tender gesture.

“You do realise they will want to split us apart. They won’t accept us together, not with my past. And we would fight, about your friends, about my family, about all our differences. I will never like Muggles, you will never understand Pureblood traditions. It’s going to be dirty and hard and maybe we simply won’t work. Because we are just too different.”

Harry took his time to think about it. Draco was right, it would never be simple between them. They would yell and insult each other, they would open again old wounds and make new ones. And maybe yes, they would finally break up and never see each other. But there was this other chance, the one they dreamed together in the Limbo. A happy life together, a love which would survive any bumps they could encounter. This was a bet and Harry was willing to take it. Despite everything.

“We worked and that’s all that matters. And I swear I would do anything for us to work again. In a few days, the Order is going to take down the Manor and the war will be finally over. After that, our real life will begin and I want you to be a part of it.”

He studied Draco’s blank grey eyes, searching for an answer, any answer. His heart was pounding madly in his chest. If Draco refused? If he didn’t want to take the risk?

Suddenly an image emerged in his mind, old reminiscence of their young years. A twelve-years old Draco was standing in front of him, on the platform replacing the wooden tables in the Great Hall, his wand lifted in the formal posture of Duelling. He was smirking at Harry, his voice dripping with disdain as he pronounced the two words which had been enough to set fire to Harry’s blood so many years ago.

“Scared, Malfoy?” he challenged and revelled when Draco’s eyes widened in recognition.

Then, Draco smirked and whispered, his lips sinfully brushing against Harry’s, sending hot sparks of pure lust towards his cock.

“You wish.”

~end~

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